




LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 


@|iij[t3?Z2)©ojp|n0§t 0. 

Shelf 


UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, 








m 


Cjcc 

crc CZ< 

<^c c:c 

c£v:^<5:.^ 

.; CSV <X. 
-.c ec <T 

iF<. <r 

j< cv Cl 

^;' C < 

V vr V r: ^ 


L^y.c, V. 

: 

r <j;;r 


< c 

c c 

<7, c 

< < 

f - c 4 


<v:'. ' c. r; 


C <!L: . . c c 

^ L c, <; ^7 

- <3ali- S <t C-ii! 

' ' r 

C C f c 

< c; 'CL 

<C. C^L .:..,< 

‘ cc:^> . . 

-''<*: <Z(-, ■ 

' ' «ar 

:« c,-< 
CCC C 
CCCC c ' • 

CC «^ V C< :: 

CC 

c.cx:: Cl'. .. 

C <LC c 

c osc: c 

c <^<z <c 

■ C c;c: <>: , 

c <?<- o- 

:c< c 

^ <vC CL < 

: CC < 

C CC c X 

c c c < c 

CC 

M 

<c 

^ 55 ^ x:c 

.. CC^.-rC 

^ ^ ' ^<C 

r C-'C « ( c 

C<c XT 


<•€ 









s r 


i , 












/ 


r • 
f 


^ \ 

i 


f 

♦ 



> 


• . • 

f V 



•• ' 



• 



i 




• \ 


‘ r If 


f 


r ^ 






‘ 


r. * 


. ^ 


% 

■ - , 


.V 



•» IT 

V' 


I 



;«i. 




I 





/ 













w ‘ 


I k ^r'., 

E» ^ * i . 1 



'^1 




■ •'^■" I'l- 

K, !>' '_ 



t 





;;■ {.V 

■.•i3*-r ■ j*v5. • ' '-•*■ ■ 


X ■ X ..... , 


H 


. r 


f tr;.V . 

^ -‘»^'.*f-. 

iiM’ ^ 

V 


O U* ' 

- 


^"*WT«Vr ^ 



rSfe. i \r •a: ^ 

,v.j . ..♦> . ' ' 

jnJ!L«4-r > 



1 , 


w r 


Bik l ‘ Jk ^ 


•r4*"- - "■'••' ' 


, 'i'k 'i'ti* aim 

^^4-1.^ . k3r. <* 


. • 











• . • ‘.A \;^\| S ' ■ ‘ , 4 i .- * 




• r 


\ * 


I • 


r 

T« 









/ 




■*’f' |■.",M 

,*- • • 1 f 

.A-v ' ., 


vV 


'U\ I ' 


'. V- , 

>.- ... • ^ P*- 


I .‘ 

^ I 


<\Y . •*. 


" 1, ; 


*• • ' ” 


' w 


n 


•M 






$ 

■T'j^ 


r (:' 


■ 'ef f;' 


1 ■ 




. 



? v'S* ' 

v’% 

L' • ■ f- . 


::: 

».../• 

* 


Am/* • 


51#* •■.*•» 

« • 

’ i 

<( 

rtfi . -AiV 

. I - * '- 

k 

:>4 - 

t ■: 

# • 

Li-' ' ' 

Sv'f.v . ‘ - 

t-i . - 





. P "V; ■' -''■.■3‘S-f*:’^ : .' i^rl- ' "■. la." 

• ■A ' ii - ii' ’ r '* ' ' * - "T'-v*' 

■ ■' "^".v [ ■. ^I'.'viVf’'- 

. .. 4 4 .' • ' *a. 


^ * > . 



; .v 

U' 

? M ’ S- • ! >* 


. >* 


V- 


''V". ■•.ii 


' ‘7 •V».?}<‘;i 

8?' 

-'i' 

•3.' ■ :",M- . 

. i« 





• . ' *( 
If,*. 

i .m, \ \ 

■li 

*• V .,\V5V" !? 

. y 



V. 


I-' - 


k* » i*- ' * •” I '..X 

• • '- ' ■ ^ ' ' rr 

■ : : 4? 

•:' . '>y.Mi)(i i"'- '*• '■^■' ' 1.'' -pJ 

i '. ■MKAiV “• •<■.':. jI 


’ V 

i . 



'.I*/ .# 


• I 


r* 

* 


» m 

V 





.1. 


4‘ 




•% ^ 


: 


^ . N 




' f* . •^_*- 


^V'l. *. 


I> ^ 


• ' - V. - 

'V' ' J**’*"*'^ ^ 

— ‘ *ir'‘ • -■ ..tr 






'■ ' 

- K^\-> 


^.r.- 




'i‘- 


L- 




^ I ; 






'V^ . > 

y ^4 ■,■• k 
■ 




•< ».»•*’ 


’,> * 






t* 


Cr. r .** 


K r v* 

i. ; ;• .y 

» - - V xV M , 

' . .. »/ 4 . ^ 

C*r, . * s 

•■•Jt-.v, I 

• i • ■>- jL ^ ■ I. ^ 

g^- • 


‘ ’ • ^5&4Sfl ; ;*f»v!w/. A 

; V ■„>«•,-• ■ - ;. ./ , 


• - n'‘‘ 

' ::’V, >■. .'^ (■ ■ '*- ^ -if? ■■ •* 

« w*. <. b 


. Vv-o. V/p' 

• ' ■ /,-f-.'^''' ^-vv' ..' '■ . 


’St' ■ • • » • ^ . ' *:•.*' • -’v-'' ’ tir ' : \ v'v- 

g^T \-,-' ' .‘ " 'V-*;. ^•.y.’‘’’ ■’" . • ^-•'^;r-' ■'’ 

Iv ■ . i. V , . . .’ •'^^-'-•i .?*7, .. ;^y;. 

-*'*J I • Ai i.x.'*- ♦*.»- ^•. • 'j 






p ■%•:• > ■ ■ 




. • • > 
'. 1 «.i <*'P 






gy ^ \ 

KfriJ^ -- '-'i' tf- ."<-f • 


' - * , f ^ ^ V" . ' ■ 

'r . .* ■ 

5 i - ■' . * . r .' • ■■..■ -1 ,:• 




• ^ • ^. ' - * • 1^ '/c V IT 3 ^ ^ ^ 4- 

►u K*‘ 4 ; .*■ ^1 ’ *•' •'xHic 

k- K^: * * • O'* ■ ^A'. \3L5I S 



3;‘’-'t>*i'’» tjK* . 

<»jfJ * '■■ '■. * • ^ 

• '• ♦ \r • * - . ' . ‘ .• *i 

■'* ^ * * -j'. 





• _ 


« i 



^*1 



< 


:fe >- ■ 




4l(® ‘d„2 




'iV 


fisa 


*. ^ 



r iArf"‘ ‘ k ’ • ’*'« 





. rH ' 


, \ 




^ « 


.1 

•» 


T < 


% * 


tj 







Beryls Husband. 


By Mrs. Harriet Lewis. 

ILLUSTRATED BY G. A. TRAVER. 

1 Ledger Library. 






The ELKHART GARRIAGE& HARNESS MFG.CO 


Deals Direct with Consumers at Wholesale Prices 

And Has Donethisfor 16 Years 

■ Every buprgry sold by dealers has sev- 
eral dollars added to the inantifactur* 
ers price. We save you this. We 
ship anywhere in the United 
States withpiivilege to examine 
before buying. We pay freight 
charges both ways ir not sat- 
isfactory. We make a full line 
of fine work in 
Buggies, Surrles, Phae- 
tons, Curts and Harness. 

Our 48-page Illustrated 
, Catalogue FREE. 




Address, Gr* IB* A-TT**!*, Seo3r., !E:ils.lxAxrt, Xn 


The Marchal S Smith Piano Company. 

Established 1859. — Incorporated 1877. 

PIANOS, $160 to $1500. ORGANS, $35 to 8500. 

Sell Xlxls Fle/xxo fox* $ 180 . 

It is our No. O, 7K Octaves. 48 Inches high, 50 inches long. 
CATALOGUE PRICE, $450. 

Thoroughly First Cla^ Guaranteed for Six Years, 

lu Ataucy Walnut or Mahogany Finish, $2t)5. 

OUR OFFER. 

wil) send this Piano on ap- 
proval, and if, after trying 
it in your home, you do not want 
it, send it back, and we will pay 
freight both ways. We send with 
the Piano a beautifully embroid- 
ered Cover, a silk plush Stool, 
and a large instruction Book. 
MORE THAN 50.000 OF OUR PIANOS ARE NOW IN USE. 
THE MARCHAL & SMITH PIANO COMPANY, 

Catalogue Free. 237 East 2 I St Street, New York. 



IT IS INODOROUS. 
NO GLUEY TASTE. 

Cheaper and better than imported. 

Endorsed by leading 
physicians as being the best 
in the American market. 

JAMES CHALMERS’ SON, Williarnsville, N. Y. 





THE LEDGER LIBRARY. 


1. — HER DOTBLE EIFEo By Mrs. Harriet iJiwis. Paper Cover, 

50 Cents Bound Volume, ^1.00. 

2. — UNKNOWN. By Mrs. E. B. E. N. South worth. Paper Cover, 

50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

3. — GUNMAKER OK MOSCOW® BY Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. Paper 

Cover, 25 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

4. — MAUI) MORTON. By Major AutRED K. Calhoun. Paper Cover, 

50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

5. — the hidden hand, by Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth. Pai>er 

Cover, 50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

6. — .SUNDERED HEARTS. BY MRS. Harriet Lewis. Paper Cover, 

50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

7 . — THE STONE-CUTTER OF LISBON. By Wm. HENRY PECK. Paper 

Cover, 50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

8. — LADV KILDARE. BY MRS. Harriet Lewis. Paper Cover, 50 

Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

9. — CRIS ROCK. By Captain Mayne Reid. Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 

Bound Volume, $1.00. 

10. — NEAREST AND DEAREST. By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

11. — THE BAILIFF’S SCHEME. By Mrs. HARRIET Lewis. Paper 

Cover, 50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

12. — A LEAP IN THE DARK. By Mrs. E. D. E. N. SODTIIWORTH. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

13. — HENRY M. STANLEY. By Henry FREDERIC Reddall. Paper 

Cover, 50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

14. — THE OLD LIFE’S SHADOWS. By Mrs. HARRIET LEWIS. Paper 

Cover, 50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

15. — A MAD BETROTHAL. By Laura JEAN LiUBEY, Paper Cover, 

50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

16. — THE LOST LADY OF I.ONE. By Mrs. E. D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

17. — ION E. By Laura Jean Libre y. Paper Cover, 50 Cents. Bound 

Volume, $1.00. 

18. — FOR WOMAN’S LOVE. By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

19. — CESAR BIROTTEAU. By Honore De Balzac. Paper Cover, 50 

Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

20. — THE BARONESS BLANK. By AUGUST Niemann. Paper Cover, 

50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

21. — PARTED BY FATE. By Laura Jean Libbey. Paper Cover, 50 

Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

22. — THE FORSAKEN INN. By Anna KATHARINE Green. Paper 

Cover, 50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.50. 

23. — OTTILIE ASTER’S SILENCE. From tbe German, By Mrs. D. M. 

IxiWREY. Paper Cover, 50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

24. — EDDA’S BIRTHRIGHT. By Mrs. Harriet Lewis. Paper Cover, 

50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

25. — THE ALCHEMIST. From tlie Freneh of Honore De Balzac. 

Pai>er Cover, 50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

26. — UNDER OATH.— An Adiroiidnek Story. By Jean KaTE LudlU3I. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

27. — COUSIN PONS. From the I'lench of Honore Be Balzac. Paper 

Cover, 50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

28. — THE UNLOVED WIFE. BY Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth. Paper 

Cover, 50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

29. — LILITH. By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth. Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 

Bound Volume, $1.00. 

30. — REUNITED. By A POPULAR SOUTHERN AUTHOR. Paper Cover, 50 

Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

31. — MRS. HAROLD STAGIL By ROBERT GRANT. Paper Cover, 50 

Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

32. -THE BREACH OF CUSTOM. Translated from the German by Mrs. 

D. M. Ix)WREY. Paper Cover, 50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.(K). 

33. -THE NORTHERN LKHIT. Translated from the German of E. 

Werner. Paper Cover, 50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

34. — BERYL’S HUSBAND. By Mrs. Harriet Lewis. Paper Cover, 50 

Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 


LILITH 


A Sequel to “The Unloved Wife.’’ 

By MRS. E. D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH. 


With Illustrations by O. W. Simons. 


Paper Cover, 50 Cents. Bound in Cloth, $1.00. 


In ^‘Lilith,” Mrs. Southworth has taken up the fortunes of her 
heroine from the date of her disappearance in The Unloved 
Wife,^’ and created a new and lovely history for her. Each of 
the novels is perfectly complete in itself, and neither is necessary 
to the perfection of the other, but they may be read together, 
and thus they form a more extended and more beautiful develop- 
ment of life and character than either constitutes alone. In 
The Unloved Wife” Lilith is a girl; in ‘^Lilith” she is a 
woman. There are more power and more of the interest and 
influence of independent individuality and character in the sequel 
than in the first part of the heroine’s strange and tragic history. 
All who read one will desire to read the other. 




% 











j : 



\ 


I 


BERYL’S HUSBAND. 


i 




♦ 


^4 • 


« 



f 


1 


/ 


r 


* "S 



. y 


r 


\ 

f 


■ y 


4 





f 






V 


y'X 


•> 




: W- 


1 - 







1 









BERYL’S 


HUSBAND 




A NOVEL. 

4 



Mrs. Harriet Lewis. 

O 


'I 

S 0 \ 
jfl 


WITH CHOICE ILL U8TBA TIONS BY O. A. TBA VLB. 


- V 




V ' i 

n ? V p . ' 


c 


f JUI : - 

V j 


NEW YORK: 

ROBERT BONNER^S SONS, 

PUBLISHERS. 


THE tEOQER library: ISSUED SEMI-MONTHLY, SUBSCRIPTION PRICE, TWELVE DOLLARS PER ANNUM. NO. 84, 
APRIL 1. 1891. ENTERED AT THE NEW YORK, N. Y., POST OFFICE AS SECOND CLASS MAIL MATTER. 



\ 





I 






'V 

CP 


t> ^ 







Copyright, 1874, 1890 and 1891, 



I 


BERYL’S HUSBAND. 


- 4 - 


CHAPTER I. 

IN FAR GENEVA. 

HE express steamer Bonivard was mak- 
ing her way swiftly from Villeneuve 
to Geneva upon Lake Leman, in 
Switzerland, one bright June morn- 
ing, several years ago. She had 
more than her usual complement of 
passengers, who varied in scarcely a 
single respect from the types ordina- 
rily seen upon her decks. Among 
them was a group of young ladies who had embarked at 
Vevay, and were on an excursion to Geneva under 
convoy of a spectacled, elderly gentleman, and three 
prim, Argus-eyed governesses of mature age and 
vinegary aspect. 




8 


IN FAR GENEVA. 


These young ladies, twenty in number, of ages 
between eight and eighteen years, and all of English 
birth or parentage, were members of the long-established 
English family-school at Vevay, known as the Pension 
de Bassett, the principal of which was the Reverend 
Edward Bassett, a retired English curate, and the 
elderly, spectacled gentleman before mentioned. 

The young charges of Mr. Bassett were kept apart 
from the remainder of the passengers, being penned in 
a corner by themselves, and watched over by their 
governesses, who acted the part of sheep-dogs with com- 
mendable vigilance. The young ladies were, for the 
most part, demure and exceedingly quiet, having glances 
only for the scenery, or the picturesque boats with 
lateen-sails they frequently encountered. With one 
exception, they were ordinary-, commonplace girls. 

The exception stood a little apart from her fellows, 
leaning lightly against the taffrail, her eyes fixed in a 
rapt gaze upon Mont Blanc, which, afar in the blue dis- 
tance, towered a snow-covered king above his subject 
mountains. She was murmuring Byron's description of 
Mont Blanc in a low, hushed voice, scarcely above a 
whisper. 

Compared with her school-fellows, this girl was as a 
diamond among pebbles. Not yet seventeen years of 
age, she was slender, graceful and as supple as a young 
panther. She was strikingly beautiful, after a pictur- 
esque and unusual fashion. She had a fair and pale 
complexion ; great, vivid brown eyes, like glowing 
lamps ; straight and slender eyebrows brown as her eyes, 
and hair of a reddish tint — the warm, deep red the old 
painters loved to depict. The face indicated a warm, 
passionate nature, quick to love and quick to hate, a 


IN FAR GENEVA. 


9 


nature with many faults, perhaps, but truthful, honest 
and generous to the core. This girl was Beryl Star. 

She was English by birth and parentage. She had 
been an inmate of Mr. Bassett’s ‘‘ educational establish- 
ment ” since her earliest remembrance, having, indeed, 
been placed in Mrs. Bassett’s charge when a mere baby 
of two years. She had never returned to England even 
for a visit, spending all her holidays at the Pension de 
Bassett. At rare intervals, in midsummer, she received 
a brief visit from her uncle, who was also her guardian ; 
but he was an austere personage, grim and hard and 
taciturn, and Beryl always breathed more freely when 
he had departed. Of this uncle, she knew only that his 
name was William Star, that he was a bachelor and a 
gentleman farmer, and that he lived in Surrey, England. 
He paid her bills with unfailing regularity, but he never 
wrote to her, never exhibited any tenderness of feeling 
for her, but, on the contrary, always seemed to regard 
her with an actual aversion and abhorrence. What his 
intentions were in regard to her future. Beryl did not 
know. 

This uncle was the only relative she possessed, so far 
as she knew. Of her own parentage she was completely 
ignorant. She was too proud to ask her teachers con- 
cerning her history ; but if she had done so the inquiry 
would have been fruitless, they being no better informed 
upon the subject than she was herself. 

As may, therefore, be supposed. Beryl Star was a liv- 
ing mystery to her school-fellows, as she was to herself. 
But, by virtue of her willfulness, her pretty imperious- 
ness, her great, generous nature, her unselfishness and 
her beauty, she was the leading spirit of the little band 
to whom all deferred — the recognized queen of the 
school. 


10 


IN FAR GENEVA. 


Even now, as she stood looking at distant Mont Blanc, 
and murmuring softly the words of Byron’s poem, the 
person who was to change the whole current of her 
existence, who was to cause her the sharpest anguish a 
human soul can know, who was to wreck her young life 
and rob her almost of her faith in Heaven and in 
humanity, stood not ten feet distant. from her, his gaze 
fixed also upon the distant Alps. 

He was an English tourist, of a social grade superior 
to his compatriots on the Bonivard, He was not over 
two-and-twenty years of age, very handsome, with a 
dark and polished beauty seldom seen in Englishmen. 
His complexion was of an olive tint, his hair black as 
jet, his eyes of inky sombreness, yet with a red light 
gleaming in their depths. He was well-bred, quiet and 
reserved. He wore a plain gray suit and no jewelry, 
but the heavy dressing-bag at his feet was of Russia 
leather, and, on being casually opened, displayed fittings 
of solid gold and finest carved ivory. He was attended 
by a sleek, middle-aged valet, who remained at a respect- 
ful distance from him, yet within call. 

This young gentleman was Rollyn Dane Conyers, 
generally known as Dane Conyers. He was an orphan, 
had already dissipated a handsome property, and was 
beginning to settle down upon the comparatively small 
income which still remained to him. He was a Sybarite, 
luxurious in all his tastes, determined to gratify himself 
in every fancy at whatever cost to himself or others, 
exquisitely selfish, and yet, notwithstanding these grave 
faults, was possessed of many delightful and charming 
qualities which procured him friends everywhere. 

He withdrew his gaze from the scenery at the moment 
when Beryl Star turned her face toward him. Their 
eyes met. A look of admiration came with a sudden 


IN FAR GENEVA. 


11 


glow into the young man’s black eyes ; the girl blushed 
and averted her face. 

Dane Conyers beckoned to his serving man, who 
approached him swiftly and silently. 

“ Huplick,” said the young gentleman, in a whisper, 

do you see that girl yonder ? Does she belong to that 
school ?” 

Yes, sir,” replied Huplick, respectfully, his glance 
following that of his master; ‘‘if you mean the girl 
with red hair hanging over her shoulders, and wearing a 
short, gray dress. She came on at Vevay with the rest.” 

Conyers dismissed his servant with a gesture, and 
Huplick retreated, sleek and imperturbable, but with an 
odd, disagreeable sort of smile upon his thick lips. 

Dane Conyers bestowed a rapt attention upon Beryl 
throughout the remainder of the journey. He studied 
her singular beauty with the eyes of an artist ; a long- 
ing to hear her speak began to possess him, and a 
determination to make her acquaintance awoke within 
him. He had fallen in love at first sight with a girl of 
whom he knew literally nothing. 

“ But I will know her,” he said to himself. “ She is 
high-bred, of noble carriage, a trifle haughty and im- 
perious, and is without doubt of noble birth. It is easy 
to see that she is romantic, impulsive and warm-hearted. 
I never before saw a woman whom I would be willing 
to marry, but I will marry her ; I never set my heart on 
having anything but I possessed it. That girl will be 
my wife. And now I must discover who and what she is !” 

He was speedily enlightened. A girlish voice, high 
and shrill, called suddenly from the midst of the group 
of young ladies : 

“ Beryl ! Beryl Star ! Come here a minute, there’s 
a darling !” 


12 


IN FAR GENEVA. 


As Beryl moved to obey the call, Dane Conyers said 
to himself : 

‘‘Beryl Star ! An odd name but appropriate to her. 
She is English, undoubtedly. And now to make Miss 
Star’s acquaintance !” 

But that was not so easy even for Dane Conyers. No 
opportunity was afforded him to approach Beryl during 
the trip. The three governesses were Argus-eyed, and 
Beryl comported herself with such reserve and apparent 
unconsciousness of his existence, that Conyers main- 
tained his distance with much inward chagrin. 

But fate befriended him at the last. As the Bonivard 
neared the Quai du Montblanc at Geneva, his valet took 
charge of the traveling-bag, and Conyers made his way 
to the place of egress. There were crowding and con- 
fusion in the moment of debarkation. Mr. Bassett went 
in advance with one of the governesses, and the two 
remaining governesses brought up the rear. Beryl, 
somewhere in the midst of the throng of school-girls, 
crowded and jostled, missed her footing and stumbled. 
In a moment Dane Conyers had sprung to her as- 
sistance. He drew her arm in his and conducted her 
safely upon the quay, releasing her promptly, and 
raising his hat to her in a chivalrous bow. The girl 
had barely time to mark his features and to express her 
thanks, when a governess took her in close charge, and 
Conyers moved away, soon becoming lost to sight. 

The day was spent by the pupils of the Pension de 
Bassett in a visit to the Botanic Garden, the Musiee 
Rath, and to “the meeting of the waters,” a mile from 
Geneva, where the deep blue Rhone and the crystal 
Arve, fresh from the glaciers, mingle their currents. In 
a little inn near this spot the school-girls procured their 


IN FAR GENEVA. 


13 


luncheon of rolls, butter and honey, and soon after set 
out with their protectors on a return to the steamer. 

It had been a pleasant holiday, during which Beryl 
would, perhaps, not have thought even once of the dark 
young stranger she had seen in the morning, had she 
been permitted to forget him ; but her girl companions 
had bantered her about her conquest,*' and one of her 
governesses had severely reproved her for accepting the 
civility of an unknown young man. As a natural con- 
sequence, she did think of him again and again. 

On re-embarking upon the Bonivard^ Beryl beheld, to 
her surprise, Dane Conyers already on board, attended 
by his valet. Conyers did not address her during the 
return voyage ; he had, indeed, no opportunity ; but 
now and then she encountered his gaze. 

Conyers debarked at Vevay after Mr. Bassett and 
his charges. 

He proceeded to the Hotel Monnet, secured rooms, 
and it being already about dusk, spent the evening in 
the reading-room of the hotel, with a good cigar. 

The next morning he went out upon a solitary stroll, 
and discovered the Pension de Bassett after consider- 
able search. It was situated upon the high-road to 
Consier, and was a large brick edifice in the midst of 
gardens, which were entirely surrounded by a brick or 
stone wall ten feet in height. Two massive doors in 
this wall gave ingress and egress — the one to carriages, 
the other to pedestrians. 

It's like a convent," thought Conyers. The apples 
of Hesperides were not better guarded than these young 
ladies." 

He made a tour of the premises, a portfolio under 
his arm to disarm suspicion in case he were seen 
by Mr. Bassett, and discovered that the house was well 


14 


IN FAR GENEVA. 


scre^ened by trees ; that a flower-garden extended in 
the rear, with a shrubbery ; and that, in the very rear of 
the premises, was an extensive kitchen-garden. He 
found, also, several crevices in the stone wall of con- 
siderable extent, half-hidden by growing vines ; and 
these crevices, he also found, commanded a view of the 
flower-garden, shrubbery, arbors and summer-houses. 

Satisfied with this discovery, he went back to Vevay. 

Late in the afternoon he returned to the vicinity of 
the boarding-school, bearing, in addition to his port- 
folio, an exquisite bouquet. He ensconced himself at 
one of the breaks in the wall, and waited patiently in the 
shadow until the young ladies came out to walk in 
the garden at their usual hour of recreation. Beryl 
Star was one of a merry group. She turned into the 
garden-path that ran in the shadow of the wall, and as 
she came near, Dane Conyers flung his bouquet at her 
feet. 

The next day Beryl avoided that particular walk, but 
she could not evade her unknown admirer. A bouquet 
came whirling through the air, falling at her feet as she 
paused to rest in a garden-chair. 

And every day for a week, when Beryl took her even- 
ing stroll in the garden, a bouquet came to her with 
unfailing regularity. Her school-fellows delighted in 
the little mystery, for Conyers never showed himself. 
Lonely all her life-long ; knowing nothing of love of 
kindred ; with a host of strange, girlish yearnings ; 
knowing nothing of the world and its wiles ; treated by 
her prim governesses more as a clever machine than as 
a young woman — what wonder that Beryl should have 
grown to regard her admirer with deepening interest — 
that she should watch for his bouquets, and hide them 
away when they came ? It was then she needed what 


IN FAR GENEVA. 


15 


in all her life she had never known — a mother’s care and 
love — and it was not hers. 

At the end of the week, on a Saturday afternoon, a 
school-holiday. Beryl Star, with a governess and two 
school-fellows, visited Lesser’s bookstore in quest of 
new music and books. Conyers, standing in the door- 
way of the Hotel Monnet, saw her, and followed her 
into the shop. He found opportunity, during the pre- 
occupation of the teachers, to address Miss Star, and his 
manner was so respectful that the innocent girl was in 
no wise alarmed. She was reserved and rather haughty 
at the assurance of the handsome stranger, but she was 
secretly pleased and flattered that she should have won 
his admiration. 

The acquaintance thus strangely and unfittingly 
begun, was not suffered by Conyers to flag. He was 
thoroughly in earnest in his desire to marry this beauti- 
ful young girl. He had never loved before ; he was 
ardent and passionate as Romeo ; and the very obstacles 
that intervened between him and Beryl, only served to 
strengthen his pursuit of her. 

At the end of June, the boarding-school was broken 
up, and the long summer holidays began. The pupils 
went away to their homes — all but Beryl. The Rev. 
Mr. Bassett and his wife went to England, to spend the 
vacation in securing new pupils. One governess went 
also to England. Another to her home in France. The 
remaining governess was left in charge of the pension, 
of the small household and of Miss Star. 

This governess was extremely fond of her ease, and 
permitted Beryl to spend much of her time with a day- 
pupil of the school — an English girl residing with her 
parents in the town. This girl, older than Beryl, was a 
giddy, thoughtless creature, who, knowing her friend’s 


16 


IN FAR GENEVA. 


little romance, took care to foster it. It thus happened 
that during the summer days, Conyers and Beryl met 
often, walked and talked together. Beryl’s friend being 
always with them, and, as the days and weeks went on, 
exchanged letters through the medium of the day-pupil, 
and finally became betrothed lovers. 

One Tuesday afternoon, late in August, Beryl and her 
school-friend visited the beautiful garden attached to 
the new chateau of Monsieur Couvreu. Upon three days 
of the week this garden was opened to the public, but 
upon the remaining days a fee of one franc was 
demanded. Tuesday being one of the days upon which 
payment for entrance was expected. Beryl and her friend 
found the garden quite deserted. They sought a little 
kiosk, where they were soon after joined by Dane 
Conyers. Beryl’s friend strolled up and down the 
garden-paths, within view, but beyond ear-shot. 

“ You look depressed to-day, my darling,” said 
Conyers, when the young pair had exchanged greetings 
in love-fashion. “ What has happened ? Is the ogre 
about to return ?” 

Yes,” sighed Beryl, my summer is past, Dane. Mr. 
and Mrs. Bassett will return this week, and school will 
recommence in a fortnight.” 

And you must go back to the drudgery of lessons 
and school routine, and we shall not meet again,” said 
Dane Conyers. This must not be. Beryl, I love you, 
and you have promised to become my wife. Let me 
write to your uncle and ask his consent to our mar- 
riage ?” 

He will refuse it,” said Beryl, sorrowfully. He has 
always hated me from my birth. I can’t write to him, 
and I beg that you will not.” 

You have no other relatives, Beryl ?” 



BERYL STJ> 






r 





> 


I 





IN FAR GEISTEVA. 


17 


“ None, Dane. I am alone in the world, poor and 
uncared for. I am no heiress, as I told you long ago, 
but I am of good blood,” the girl added, proudly. 

I knew that when I first saw you, dear,” said _ 
Conyers. “ I do not care for fortune with my wife, but 
it is essential that she should be of good family. I have 
no parents living, no one but myself to consult in my 
marriage, and my income is slender, being but eight 
hundred pounds a year. But we could live well upon 
that sum almost anywhere upon the continent,” said 
Conyers, smiling. “ I wish I had now all the money I 
have squandered uselessly. But we do not care for 
splendors, if we have each other.” 

Have you no relatives living, Dane ?” 

Yes, I have a titled uncle, but I have never seen him. 
My mother was not on friendly terms with him for many 
years, and there are two strong young lives between me 
and any possible accession to his title and wealth. He 
would laugh at my presumption if I dared address him 
on the subject of my marriage. You see I am as isolated 
in the world as you. Beryl. And now I must tell you 
what I came to say, my darling. Do you know where I 
was yesterday ?” 

Beryl replied in the negative. 

I had seen a cottage advertised to be let furnished 
near Lausanne, and I went to look at it. It has been 
occupied by an English family, is very pretty, and has 
an old serving-woman in charge, who would serve 
admirably as housekeeper. Beryl, I hired the cottage 
for three months,” said Conyers, drawing nearer to her, 
and speaking in a tone full of caressing and pleading, 
“and I told the old woman that I would bring her 
young mistress home to-morrow. You have promised 
to be my wife, darling ; be my wife now. Why should 


18 


IN FAR GENEVA. 


we wait for the consent of your uncle, who cares noth- 
ing for you ? We have only our two selves to consult. 
You love and trust me, darling, and you are all the 
world to me. You know that I am an honorable gentle- 
man of good birth and some fortune. Shall I not have 
my bride now ? Say yes. Beryl.*' 

The girl’s heart beat wildly, her pale cheeks glowed, 
her brown eyes drooped. She was sorely tempted to 
yield to her lover’s passionate pleading. And he, seeing 
his advantage, continued to urge his cause with passion- 
ate anxiety and earnestness. He loved her with all his 
soul. The one desire of his life was to possess her as 
his wife. Beryl loved him in return. Her life was 
lonely and unsatisfied. To be loved and cherished as 
the being dearest of all the world to Dane Conyers 
seemed to her bliss too great to realize. Youth and 
love won the day, and Beryl promised to marry him at 
once. 

Conyers, in - rapture, clasped her in his arms and 
showered kisses upon her. 

“ My darling, may heaven deal with me as I deal with 
you,” he murmured. ^‘Your life shall henceforth be 
one long delicious happiness, unmarred by a sorrow. 
We will be married to-morrow at Geneva, and we will 
then go to our pretty cottage near Lausanne, for our 
honeymoon. But how shall we manage your journey to 
Geneva? I wijl go this evening, and procure a mar- 
riage license if one is required, and see the English 
clergyman, and you must come on by the early morning 
boat. I will meet you at the Quai du Montblanc, and 
we will drive directly to the English church. Will you 
be brave for my sake, and come to me in love and trust 
to-morrow. Beryl ?” 

“ It is so soon,” said Beryl, shrinkingly. ‘‘ But I will 


IN FAR GENEVA. 


19 


come, Dane, and Mary Graham shall come with me. 
She has been your ally from the first, and is eager to 
witness our marriage. I have permission to remain 
with her to-night and to-morrow. I do not yet see how 
we can quite manage it, but we will be there.” 

Mary Graham, the day-pupil heretofore referred to, 
was summoned from the adjacent paths to assist at the 
conference. She entered zealously into the« lover’s 
scheme, and promised her assistance. Plans were dis- 
cussed and settled upon, and at length the party 
separated, the girls to proceed to Miss Grahams’ 
residence, and Conyers to go to his hotel, and thence to 
journey to Geneva. 

Beryl spent the night with her friend. In the morn- 
ing, Miss Graham obtained permission of her mother to 
go to Geneva with Beryl, the two to be attended by 
Mrs. Graham’s maid, a French woman of a frivolous 
turn of mind, but supposed to be a sufficient protector 
to two young ladies during a day’s excursion. 

Thus guarded. Beryl and her friend took the morning 
boat for Geneva. Long before their journey had ended, 
the French maid had been informed of the project on 
foot, and had been won to consent to serve as one of the 
witnesses of the intended marriage. 

On debarking at the Qiiai du Montblanc, the little 
party was met by Dane Conyers and his *valet. The 
lovers met in silence. A carriage was in waiting, and 
the girls and their maid entered it. Conyers mounted 
the box with the driver. The valet hurried away on 
foot. 

The distance was very short to the English church in 
the Rue du Montblanc, opening out of the quay o^ the 
same name, and the valet arrived there as soon#as did 
the carriage. Conyers alighted and assisted Beryl and 


20 


IN FAR GENEVA. 


Miss Graham to the ground. The valet helped out the 
French woman, and gave her his arm. The party 
entered the church. 

The clergyman was in waiting. The pew-opener and 
two or three English persons stood in the aisles expect- 
antly. The bridal party marched up to the altar. There 
was but a brief delay, and the marriage ceremony pro- 
ceeded^ Huplick giving away the bride. 

It was a singular bridal. The dim and nearly empty 
church ; the bridegroom in handsome morning attire ; 
the bride in a walking costume of white lawn trimmed 
with fluted ruffles ; Miss Graham dressed in blue lawn ; 
and the few curious-eyed strangers wondering at the 
fact that no troop of friends attended the young pair, 
and at the child-like appearance of the beautiful bride 
— all these made up a scene not often beheld. 

The fateful ceremony was at length over. Beryl, half 
frightened, shy and trembling, was Beryl Star no longer, 
but Beryl Conyers. She stood as in a maze, while her 
young husband kissed her, and Miss Graham embraced 
her, and her face was very grave as she signed her 
name in the marriage register — so grave that one might 
have fancied that the pall of a sad future was shutting 
down already upon her young life. 

They returned to the carriage ; but now, with an air 
of happy triumph, Dane Conyers entered the vehicle 
also, and placed himself beside his young bride. The 
valet mounted the box. They drove down to the Quais, 
and crossed the Pont des Bergues, proceeding to the 
Cafe du Musee, where a wedding breakfast had been 
ordered by Conyers. A private parlor was in readiness 
for them, and bride ajnd bridegroom, with Miss Graham, 
took possession of it, while Huplick and the French 
maid were served at a table in the open garden. 


THUNDER IN A CLEAR SKY. 


21 


After the breakfast, the bridal party adjoined to Rous- 
seau’s Island, spending the time there under the trees 
until it became time to embark upon the return journey. 

Then they took the boat — not the express steamer, 
but a vessel that stopped at nearly every point upon the 
northern side of the lake — and through the declining day 
glided over the deep blue waters, in a strange happiness 
that was like a lurid burst of sunshine before a storm. 

At Ouchy the .newly married pair debarked. Miss 
Graham and Beryl indulged in a fervid embrace, and 
then separated — the former to return to Vevay and 
school ; the latter to begin the strange new life she had 
chosen — to walk to the end the thorny path whose begin- 
ning seemed now strewn with flowers. 


CHAPTER II. 

THUNDER IN A CLEAR SKY. 

About three miles distant from Lausanne, and between 
one and two miles distant from Ouchy, stands a pretty 
little house, half-villa, half-chalet, with outside stair- 
case, upper and lower balconies, a deeply projecting 
roof, and very wide casement windows. It was set in 
the midst of a shaded garden, whose lawn extended to 
the very edge of Lake Leman, and a quaint little Ger- 
man kiosk, with open sides and a peaked roof, stood 
upon an outjutting bluff, commanding a magnificent 
view of lake, opposite shores and the distant Alps, with 
their august king, Mont Blanc. 

This was the house which Dane Conyers had hired for 


22 


THUNDER IN A CLEAR SKY. 


three months — the home to which he brought his young 
bride upon the evening of the day of their marriage. 

As they drove along the lake road and turned into 
the grounds of the Villa Belvoir, as the place was named, 
lights beamed from all the windows and streamed out 
at the open doors in pleasant welcome. The carriage 
drew up in front of the low stone steps, and Conyers 
helped out his bride, and led her into the house, Hup- 
lick paying and dismissing the cabman. 

The hall was a wide, long room, with cool, tiled floor, 
and tall-backed walnut chairs and settle. They passed 
beyond to the drawing-room, a cosy apartment with 
mosaic flooring of different-colored woods, flowing lace 
curtains, and furniture covered with fresh and dainty 
pink chintz. The housekeeper joined them here, pant- 
ing and breathless, apologizing for not having been at 
the door to receive them. 

She was an energetic-looking woman, with an abrupt 
manner, but was prepossessing in her appearance, and 
Beryl liked her at once. 

“ Madame Pinnet,” said her employer, after proper 
salutations had been exchanged, show Mrs. Conyers to 
her room. When will dinner be served 

‘‘ In half an hour precisely,” replied Madame Pinnet, 
promptly. “ Follow me, my dear — I beg your pardon, 
Madame, but you seem a mere child — and I will show 
you up-stairs.” 

Beryl followed her housekeeper, while Conyers went 
away to the dressing-room he had selected for his own 
use. 

Beryl’s rooms consisted of bed-room with dressing- 
room and bath attached, and opened upon a wide 
veranda to which was appended the picturesque open 
staircase. There were chairs upon the veranda, which 


THUNDER IN A CLEAR SKY. 


23 


commanded a glorious view, as it fronted the lake. The 
rooms were simply furnished, but were exquisitely neat 
and clean, wearing a look of daintiness and freshness 
seldom seen in houses to be let furnished." 

Declining the assistance of the housekeeper. Beryl 
renovated her toilet as well as possible, brushed out her 
tawny hair, and then passed out upon the veranda. 

“ I feel like the old woman in the nursery rhyme," 
she said to herself ; I wonder if this be I, Beryl Star, 
of the Pension de Bassett. Perhaps I shall awaken pres- 
ently and find it all a dream." 

She was thinking of the liberty of her new life, of the 
^love and care that were to be hers, of travel, of life in its 
broadest sense, which her lover had promised her, when 
Conyers came around the angle of the house and ap- 
proached, halting at her side and encircling her waist 
with one arm. 

‘‘ My little wife," he said, softly, kissing her hair. ‘‘ I 
am not a good man, I fear. Beryl ; I have many faults 
and weaknesses you could never understand ; I am 
selfish and fond of having my own way at any and all 
cost, but, standing here to-night with you, I promise to 
be a better man for your sake, darling, and to become 
worthy of your trust and love." 

You are worthy now, dear," said the yonng bride, 
nestling nearer to him. ‘‘ Think, Dane, dearest, you are 
the first young gentleman I ever knew. How strange 
that you should have fallen in love with me at first sight 
— with me whom my only relative hates !" 

“ That reminds me. Beryl," said Conyers, “ that we 
must write to your uncle announcing our marriage. We 
will do so in a day or two, and we will write also to Mr. 
Bassett. I should like to see your uncle's surprise when 
he learns that you have escaped the bonds of his 


4 


24 


THUNDER IN A CLEAR SKY. 


authority. Do you know, darling, I have fancied from the 
first that you have a fortune of your own, and that your 
uncle would have inherited it had you died unmarried 
while a minor? That theory would account for his 
hatred of you.’' 

‘‘ I do not believe that I have a fortune, Dane. Mrs. 
Bassett told me once that I was dependent upon my 
uncle.” 

‘‘How could she know anything about you save what 
he told her ? But, fortune or not, you are a fortune in 
yourself, my little wife.” 

“ How much you think of my having been well born,” 
said Beryl. “ Do all Englishmen think so much of 
birth, Dane ? ” 

“ All who are themselves well born, dearest. I could 
never have married a woman, whatever her charms, who 
was not well born. I have noble connections, you know, 
and have a right to expect my wife to be more than an 
ordinary person. Perhaps I never told you — it’s of no 
consequence — but I have seen your uncle’s place in Sur- 
rey. It was a year ago, and I was visiting a friend in 
his neighborhood. I remarked your uncle’s place at the 
time — Starwood, he calls it — from the fact that the house 
dates back to the days of the Tudors, and is a grand 
specimen of the country-house architecture of that date. 
When you told me that Mr. William Star, of Starwood, 
Surrey, was your uncle, I knew at once who and what 
you are. It is said that he is very rich, and as he is a 
bachelor, you will of course succeed to his wealth. So 
we will keep friends with him, Beryl, and write him a 
nice letter, asking him to forgive us, and so forth. I 
am quite anxious to receive his reply with ‘ Bless you, 
my children ; come to Starwood at once.’ ” 

Beryl laughed, and soon the young pair descended 


THUNDER IN A CLEAR SKY. 


25 


the outer staircase to the lawn, and entered the dining- 
room through an open casement. 

A tempting little dinner was served by Madame 
Pinnet and a buxom young woman whom she had en- 
gaged to assist her in household duties, and afterward 
the bridal pair walked in the moonlit garden and sat in 
the kiosk overhanging the lake, and Conyers quoted 
poetry in an impassioned voice, and talked like a new 
Romeo, and Beryl sat silent and oppressed with a hap- 
piness so exquisite that it was full of pain. 

“ And I am to be happy as this all my life ? said 
Beryl. ‘‘ Oh, Dane, I can hardly realize it ! ** 

‘‘ Life has greater bliss in store for us than you can 
even imagine. Beryl — travels by sea and shore, ascent of 
mountain peaks, dwellings in secluded valleys, rambles 
amid the world's great ruins, and a home, I hope, in old 
England at last — a home at Starwood, perhaps," said 
Conyers. Let us think now what we shall say in our 
letter to your uncle." 

They discussed phrases and turns of sentences at con- 
siderable length, Conyers betraying more interest in the 
subject than did Beryl. 

The next day, the young man brought writing mate- 
rials and his bride down to the little kiosk, and hours 
were consumed in writing the all-important letter to Mr. 
Star. Beryl wrote from Conyers’ dictation, and an 
epistle was at length completed which satisfied them 
both. 

It was of moderate length, announcing the marriage 
not too abruptly, and urging the little interest — the 
aversion even — which had always distinguished Mr. 
Star’s manner to his niece, as the reason why Beryl and 
her lover had not delayed their marriage to ask his con- 
sent. It assured Mr. Star that his forgiveness was 


26 


THUNDER IN A CLEAR SKT. 


earnestly desired by the young pair, and that they should 
await a letter from him with anxiety. 

“ That will do,’* said Conyers. We won’t humble 
ourselves too much. Mr. Star is an odd sort of man, 
and is as unsocial as a bear with a ruffled temper, I have 
heard. He won’t like anything that looks like fawning. 
And now for the letter to Mr. Bassett. Your governess 
has, no doubt, been informed of your marriage, and 
must be in a high state of excitement. I will write that 
letter.” 

He hastened to do so, addressing the Rev. Edward 
Bassett, and informing him, without waste of words, 
that Miss Star had became Mrs. Dane Conyers, and 
requesting that her effects be forwarded to the Villa Bel- 
voir, Ouchy, as soon as possible. 

These letters were posted by Huplick upon the same 
day. 

A week passed before any reply came to either letter. 
These days of waiting were employed by Conyers and 
Beryl in daily visits to Lausanne or Geneva, and in pur- 
chasing an outfit of new garments for the young bride, 
her effects not having been forwarded as requested. 

But at last came a letter from the Reverend Mr. 
Bassett, full of stern reproach to his former pupil, accus- 
ing her of having inflicted an irreparable injury upon 
the Pension de Bassett by her runaway marriage, and 
assuring her that he would never forgive her, and that 
he trusted she would find her punishment in the future. 
In conclusion, he stated that he had written to Mr. Star, 
and that he awaited the orders of that gentleman in 
regard to the disposition of Miss Star’s effects, which 
would, therefore, not be forwarded to the Villa Belvoir. 

A delightful letter,” said Dane Conyers, smiling. 


THUNDER IN A CLEAR SKY. 


27 


“The Reverend Bassett seems to think that his frown 
will make us miserable. What an amiable hope he in- 
dulges in in regard to our future ! He may change his 
tone, if your uncle should choose to forgive us and in- 
vite us to Starwood ! ** 

Another week passed before a letter came from Eng- 
land. The interval was delightfully employed in sails 
on the lake in the little lateen-sail rigged vessels, in 
rambles in the garden, in reading poetry together, in ex- 
cursions to Ferney and to the Grand Salive, whose 
summit they achieved after a toilsome ride on donkeys. 
Never was honeymoon more delightful ; never were a 
Romeo and a Juliet more blissful. 

The fate that brooded darkly above them could not 
long be averted, however. The first shadow came in the 
letter from Mr. Star, which arrived one goldpn September 
day, when the pair were seated in the kiosk watching 
passing vessels and talking idly. 

It so happened that they were speaking of the advan- 
tages in being well born, and Dane Conyers had just 
expressed himself strongly in regard to family connec- 
tions, when Huplick, who had been to Lausanne tor the 
mail, came down the garden-path with a letter in his 
hand. 

It was Conyers who received the letter and dis- 
missed the valet, and Conyers who examined the post- 
mark, exclaiming : 

“ Come, Beryl ; the long-expected has arrived. Let 
us see in what terms our worthy uncle vouchsafes his 
forgiveness.” 

Beryl came and sat beside her husband, who drew her 
close to his side, her head upon his shoulder, while he 
opened the missive and read aloud these words : 


28 


THUNDER IN A CLEAR SKY. 


Starwood, Surrey, England. 

‘‘ Mr. AND Mrs. Dane Conyers : I have received your 
letter announcing your marriage ; also a letter from the 
Rev. Mr. Bassett to the same effect. I am not at all sur- 
prised that Beryl should have made a runaway marriage. 
‘ Bad blood will tell.* ‘ What is born in the bone will be 
bred in the flesh.* Allow me to say, in response to your 
uncalled-for announcement to me, that I have provided 
for Beryl only from a sense of duty ; that I herewith 
wash my hands of her forever ; that she will never 
inherit one penny of mine, and that I will never see 
either of you — so help me Heaven ! One word in con- 
clusion : It will be well not to boast of your relation- 
ship to me, since Beryl is the daughter of my sister, 
Jenny Star, who died many years ago, and Beryl never 
had a fathet. Wishing Mr. Dane Conyers joy of his 
base-born, penniless bride, and Mrs. Dane Conyers 
equal joy of her fortune-seeking husband, I am 
“ Not your friend and well-wisher, 

William Star.** 


NEWS FROM ENGLAND. 


29 


CHAPTER III. 

NEWS FROM ENGLAND. 

Conyers read every word of her uncle’s letter aloud to 
his young wife, his voice growing strangely husky as he 
neared its close. When he had finished, the letter 
dropped from his hands to the floor of the kiosk, and 
for some moments silence reigned between the young 
pair. Beryl felt his arm drop away from her waist, felt 
his whole person shrink away from her. To the anguish 
evoked by her uncle’s letter, a deadlier terror was now 
added. 

“ Dane !” she cried, “ you don’t blame me, do you ? 
I did not know — I did not know, dear ! Look at me, 
Dane. Speak to me !” 

She clung to him in agonized beseeching, clasping 
her arms around him, but he put her away ; not 
roughly, but so deliberately as to chill her soul, and 
arose and stood against the balustrade, his back toward 
her, his gaze apparently fixed upon Mont Blanc. Beryl 
crept after him, bewildered and agonized, and laid her 
hand timidly on his arm. He did not look down upon 
her, or notice her presence by a movement. 

Dane,” she sobbed, ‘‘ are you angry ? I never 
deceived you. I never said I was my uncle’s heiress.” 

Conyers did not turn nor lower his gaze. He stood 
stern and immovable, but now he said, icily : 

“You told me that you were of good birth.” 

“ How could I suspect the truth ? I was but two 
years old when I was brought to Vevay by my uncle. 


30 


NEWS FROM ENGLAND. 


and placed in the care of the Bassetts. My uncle never 
told me. Dane, I am not ‘to blame. Think, the shock 
of this discovery is as great to me as to you.'* 

Conyers made no response. 

Beryl was silent a little while, an awful wave of deso- 
lation sweeping over her soul. But at last her love for 
her husband, her longing for sympathy and words of 
kindness, impelled her to plead anew to him. 

‘‘ Dane," she said, in a low, broken voice, ** dear 
Dane, I will be a better wife to you all my days, if you 
will only overlook this stain upon my birth. I am the 
same girl you married, the same loving Beryl, and I 
will be your very slave if you will only love me again. 
I did not mean to deceive you." 

‘‘ Perhaps not," said Conyers, stiffly ; ‘‘ but I have 
been grossly deceived. I fell in love with you at first 
sight, but, as God hears me, had I loved you a million 
times as well, I would not have married you, knowing 
you to be base-born. In our first interview you told me 
who you were. I had seen Starwood and known of Mr. 
Star — at least, that he was a bachelor, morose, unsocial, 
and very wealthy. I hacf never heard in Surrey of your 
existence, but when you told me that Mr. Star was your 
uncle and only living relative, I very naturally sup- 
posed you to be the legitimate daughter of his younger 
brother." 

The words, clear and metallic, sounded upon Beryl’s 
ears like a knell. She shuddered, with a low moan that 
ought to have pierced her husband’s heart ; but that 
heart, in its wounded pride and outraged selfishness 
was harder than a mill- stone. 

Oh, Dane ! Dane !" she said, “ I am your wife — 
your own wife — " 

Unfortunately, yes. you are my wife !" said Con- 


NEWS FROM ENGLAND. 31 

yers, with a bitter sneer. ‘‘You have achieved the 
shelter of an honorable name ; that is true. But think 
of me, with my connections, my honorable family, my — 
Think ! I stand here at two-and twenty with a life 
blighted by my own folly ! I have married — what ?” 

He turned abruptly, and plunged into the garden. 

Beryl called to him to come back, and ran after hirh, 
to the step of the kiosk, but he did not look around or 
speak to her. She sank down upon the step, stunned 
and grief-stricken, conscious only that her short day of 
happiness was over. 

It was hours later when at last she aroused herself 
from her stupor, and lifted her tawny head. Her uncle’s 
fatal letter rustled at her feet. She picked it up mechani- 
cally and thrust it into her pocket, and then the recol- 
lection of her misery burst upon her. 

She sought her husband in the garden ; she ran along 
the shore of the lake ; he was not there. She hurried to 
the house, new terrors gaining upon her. He was not 
in the drawing-room, not in the dining-room. She flew 
up the stairs, calling his name.* But the voice whose 
tones had been music to her did not. answer. The bed- 
room and the dressing-room were alike empty. But her 
writing-desk stood open by a window, and upon the 
desk lay a letter. 

Beryl seized upon the letter. It was addressed to her- 
self in Conyers’s handwriting, and was sealed. She tore 
it open, and read the following lines : 

“ Beryl : I must have a little time to reconcile 
myself to the altered aspect of our affairs. I am going 
away for a day or two, and shall take Huplick with me. 
I will return as soon as I can meet you calmly. 

Dane.” 


32 


NEWS FROM ENGLAND. 


That was all. No word of love or sympathy for the 
young wife ; no thought in this supreme hour save of 
self. 

Beryl examined her desk. All the letters Conyers 
had written to her throughout the summer were gone, 
and a pile of gray ashes on the hearth, with scraps of 
burnt and shriveled paper upon it, testified that he had 
destroyed them in his rage. 

She remained in her own room during the evening. 
The housekeeper came up to announce dinner, and the 
young mistress informed her that Mr. Conyers was 
gone away for a day or two. 

The day or two which Dane Conyers had fixed as 
the limit of his absence passed slowly, and then, instead 
of his return, came a letter from him dated at Geneva, 
stating that he could not prevail upon himself to return 
to the Villa Belvoir immediately, and was about to 
undertake an excursion, attended by Huplick, to the 
Matterhorn. He would be gone, he thought probable, a 
week or ten days. 

From that moment’the wronged young wife ceased 
utterly to expect her husband’s return. 

Meanwhile, Conyers had spent a day in Geneva in 
battling with his fierce pride, which nothing could con- 
quer. He was angered against his wife. At times he 
suspected her of having known her history from the first, 
and deliberately made him her dupe and victim. He 
thought of her wondrous beauty with abhorrence, as the 
snare that had enmeshed him. He hated her at times 
•with a bitterness that had in it something murderous. 
He had deceived himself in thinking her her uncle’s 
heiress, but he laid the blame of the deception upon her. 
He had hurried away from the Villa Belvoir mad with 
passion, vaguely intending to return a little later. 


GAZING ON MONT BLANC .— Page 8 



• . 


4 




NEWS FEOM ENGLAND. 


33 


But when he wrote the letter dated at Geneva, an 
event had occurred which caused him to resolve upon a 
deliberate abandonment of the young wife, whose only 
fault was that she had loved him too well. His promise 
to return, in the later letter, was intended but to keep 
her quiet until he should rid himself of her altogether. 
The event was the reception of a letter of the most start- 
ling moment. 

Upon arriving at Geneva by rail, Conyers Tiad pro- 
ceeded to the Hotel de Russie. At nightfall he was in 
his private parlor, which commanded a view of Mont 
Blanc. His table was laid for dinner, and Huplick was 
moving about the apartment with his usual cat-like 
step. This sleek valet, knowing nothing of the contents 
of Mr. Star’s letter, supposed that his young master and 
mistress had quarrelled, in which case his sympathies 
were decidedly with the former. 

Huplick presented a letter. 

‘‘ If you please, sir,” he said, “ I went to the post- 
office this morning, and inquired for any letters for you. 
You will remember, sir, that you ordered your bankers 
to send on any letters that might come for you to 
Geneva, post restante. This letter is forwarded from 
England, sir.” 

‘‘ From England ? I owe no one in England. It can’t 
be a dun. Let me see it.” 

Huplick presented the letter. It was inclosed in a 
large square white envelope, heavily bordered with 
black. It was sealed with black wax and stamped with 
a crest. 

“ The Hawkhurst crest ! ” muttered Conyers, in 
amazement. ‘‘ Why should any of the Hawkhurst family 
write to me? It maybe from the earl himself. If so, it 
is singular that he should deign to recognize my exist- 


34 


NEWS FROM ENGLAND. 


ence. All my life my noble connections never noticed 
me, and now for the first time I receive their recogni- 
tion/* 

His lips curled sneeringly, and he proceeded deliber- 
ately to cut open the letter at the end, in a manner to 
preserve both address and crest. A sheet of letter-paper, 
bordered with black and folded but once, was with- 
drawn, and he read its contents as follows : 

Hawks* Cliff, Cornwall, Eng., Sept 9th, 1880. 

** Rollyn Dane Conyers, Esq. — Dear Sir : I write 
to inform you — what you have doubtless already 
learned from your London banker or some officious friend 
— that my two nephews, sons of my late brother, the 
Honorable James Desmond, are dead. They were lost 
in a yachting excursion off the coast of Norway in the 
early part of last month. The elder of these brothers, 
Harcourt Desmond, had he outlived me, would have 
succeeded to my title and estates. His death is a sore 
blow to me. In default of the children of my only 
brother, you, Rollyn Dane Conyers, the son of my late 
cousin Rollyn Conyers, are the next heir to the Earldom 
of Hawkhurst. 

“ You are, doubtless, aware that I was never friendly 
with your father, the late Rollyn Conyers. He was not 
an upright, honorable gentleman, as you must know. 
I write this frankly, that you may understand what 
follows. If you resemble your father in character, it 
will not be well to put into your hands too much wealth 
and power. I cannot alienate from you the title I now 
bear ; but the estates are absolutely my own, to do 
with as I please, and I purpose bestowing them upon 
one worthy to succeed to them. 

The next in the line of succession to the title after 


NEWS FROM ENGLAND. 


35 


yourself is s young relative of mine, distant by blood, 
yet bearing my family name, who is called Noble Des- 
mond. He is nearly the same age with you. I have 
never seen him. 

I shall spend the remainder of September and half 
of October in Scotland. I desire you to come to Hawks* 
Cliff about the middle of October — say the 20th. I 
write to-day to Noble Desmond, inviting him to visit 
me at the same time. I shall study your character and 
his, and whichever of you two I find the more worthy 
shall succeed to my entire wealth. 

“There is but one thing more to say — I am lonely, a 
widower and childless. I have a fancy that he who 
inherits my money and estates shall make a brilliant 
marriage — one that will confer honor upon the name of 
Hawkhurst. The future Countess of Hawkhurst may 
be low-born, for I cannot control your marriage ; but 
the future mistress of Hawks* Cliff, the future dispenser 
of my income, must and shall be of noble blood. If, 
therefore, you should, in any moment of young folly or 
passion, have betrothed yourself to any ordinary middle- 
class person, you need not come to Hawks* Cliff. In 
that case, I shall occupy myself with Noble Desmond. 
I write to him, also, that he need not come to me unless 
he is heart-free. Should you both be fettered by en- 
gagements that will not comport with my plans, I will 
look outside my own family for my heir. 

“ You need not write to me, but may come to Hawks* 
Cliff at the time appointed — should you be unfettered 
by any promise of marriage — without preliminary 
announcement. 

(Signed.) “ Hawkhurst.** 

When Conyers had finished reading the letter in 


36 


NEWS FKOM ENGLAND. 


silence, he breathed a curse so terrible that even 
Huplick started. Then he. rushed into his bed-room 
and closed and locked the door. Huplick permitted the 
servant to bring on the dinner, and, after sending him 
away, coolly sat down and ate it, listening intently to 
the sound of raging in the inner room. In due course 
of time he sent away the empty dishes, and stretching 
himself upon a sofa, awaited the reappearance of his 
young master. 

It was somewhere about ten o’clock when Dane 
Conyers came forth, pale, haggard, and strangely 
savage. His black eyes burned with evil fires. The 
careless gayety that had distinguished him was gone 
from his countenance. 

Huplick was on his feet, sleek, alert and furtively 
watchful. 

Shall I order your dinner now, sir ?” he asked. 

“ No ; but ring for brandy.” 

Conyers flung himself in an arm-chair. The brandy 
was brought, and he drank half a glassful at a swallow. 

Shall I order breakfast earlier than usual to- 
morrow, sir ?” inquired the valet. 

What for ?” 

“Why, so that you can catch the early train to 
Lausanne, sir,” said Huplick, meekly. “ I suppose you 
will be in a hurry to see Mrs. Conyers.” 

Conyers’s wrath broke forth in a torrent of oaths that 
was positively appalling. He cursed his valet, he 
cursed Beryl, he cursed himself. 

“Hurry to see her, you fool?” he said, when he had 
begun to grow calmer. “ Hurry to the woman who has 
destroyed my life, the fair cheat, the lying, low-born 
entrapper ! Read that, and never speak her name to 
me again.” 


NEWS FKOM ENGLAND. 


37 


He tossed the Earl of Hawkhurst’s letter to his valet, 
who read it greedily, his jaw falling as he neared its 
termination. 

“ So then you won’t be nothing but Hearl, sir,” he 
ejaculated ; ‘‘you gets the shell, as ’twere, and t’ other 
young gentleman gets the meat.” 

“ Earl on eight hundred a year !” sneered Conyers ; 
“ I shall make a fine peer !” 

“But Mrs. Conyers will be rich. You told me your 
own self, sir, before your marriage, that she was heiress 
to a rich uncle in Surrey.” 

“ I thought so then. But her uncle disowns her. He 
won’t give her one penny. She is base-born — curse her. 
And she’s my wife !” 

Huplick began to consider his young master as 
Beryl’s victim. He was thoughtful for some time, 
weighing matters in his own mind. At last he walked 
to the door on the tips of his toes, and peered into the 
hall. Re-entering, he locked the door and came close 
to his master. 

“ Mr. Conyers,” he said, in a whisper, “ why do you 
give up all for lost ? Why don’t you retrieve yourself?” 

“ How ?” 

“ I can give you an idea, sir. You’ve three weeks or 
more to work in, and you can do a great deal in three 
weeks. Mrs. Conyers is young, inexperienced and 
utterly friendless. It will be easy to manage her, and 
she’ll have no fine friends to come to her assistance. If 
I were well paid, I think I could suggest apian by which 
you could succeed to the great Hawkhurst inheritance.” 

“ Make me the heir of the earl, Huplick. and you shall 
be my valet as long as you live, at three times your 
present pay.” 

Huplick smiled. 


38 


NEWS FEOM ENGLAND. 


I don’t expect to be a valet all my days, sir ; not 
even a Hearl’s valet. A neat family hotel at the West 
End of London, with a private bar, handsome parlors, 
and well-furnished bed-rooms, would be about my figure. 
I should say that five thousand pounds outright, after 
the present Hearl dies, and you come into his entire 
property, would be about right.” 

What will you do on those terms ?” 

“ Free you forever from the claims of your wife !” 
was the whispered response. Forever, sir ! You can 
go to England as a bachelor, win the Hearl’s favor, and 
when he drops off you’ll step directly into his shoes.” 

How can this be acomplished ?” 

The valet proceeded to unfold his plan. Conyers 
heard and applauded, entering into it heart and soul. 

In accordance with his plan, he wrote the next morn- 
ing to Beryl the letter we have mentioned, in which he 
stated his determination to visit the Matterhorn, and his 
purpose to be absent a week or ten days. Upon the very 
day in which he wrote the letter, still in acordance with 
his valet’s accepted scheme, he did indeed set out for Zer- 
matt, whence excursions are made to the Matterhorn, 
attended by Huplick. 


huplick’s plan caeried out. 


39 


CHAPTER IV. 
huplick's plan carried out. 

Arrived at Zermatt, Conyers reconsidered his plan. It 
was discovered that an ascent of the Matterhorn with- 
out guides would be regarded as a freak of madness, the 
very idea seeming to create a hubbub of excitement at 
his hotel. 

“We shall have to try Monte Rosa then,*' said 
Conyers, in the privacy of his own room, addressing his 
valet. “ Ladies often ascend Monte Rosa, and yet it 
has perils only less frightful, during the latter portion 
of its ascent, than those of the Matterhorn. During the 
last hour or two of the ascent one has to climb by means 
of footholds cut in the ice. That will be difficult enough 
for us. Let us move on to the Reil Inn immediately.** 

The Riffel Hotel on the Riffelburg Mountain furnished 
a good starting-point for the proposed excursion, and 
Conyers journeyed thither the same day. 

On the day after, arising at dawn, he set out with 
Huplick upon his excursion. He had not communicated 
his design over-night to any one, but now imparted it to 
two of the waiters whom he encountered in departing. 
They expostulated, but to no effect. Conyers and his 
valet departed immediately, the latter carrying ropes 
and a basket of provisions. 

Conyers had ascended Monte Rosa before, and knew 
what course to take. He was a good walker, and his 
quick stride soon took him out of sight from the inn, 
Huplick keeping up with him. 


40 


huplick’s plan carried out. 


They traversed the Gorner and Monte Rosa glaciers 
in safety, alpenstocks in hand, and after over three 
hours' hard toil, reached Auf dem Felsen, where they 
procured breakfast, and where Conyers was offered a 
guide, whose services he declined, saying that he knew 
the route as well as any guide. Hour after hour of 
unremitting toil followed. It was past noon when the 
lower Sattel was ascended and a second halt was made. 
Thus far the ascent had been laborious ; now the peril 
was to come. The route for the next hour and a half 
ascended on the brink of an abyss, by means of steps 
cut in the ice. But dangerous as was their progress, 
Conyers was not tempted tp turn back. 

The final portion of the way lay over rocks, and was 
not less fatiguing than what had preceded. The two 
gained the summit, and flung themselves down to rest. 
They consumed their provisions, and Huplick gave ex- 
pression to his delight at the success that had so far 
attended them. 

“ It is better to actually make the ascent, toilsome and 
perilous as it is," said Conyers, raising a flask of brandy 
to his mouth. “The excursion looks more like a 
genuine thing. If an accident happens upon the return, 
why the people below will be ready to affirm that it is 
no more than they expected from my foolhardiness." 

They set out on their return with but brief delay. 
Descending the section of rocks at the top of the moun- 
tain they entered upon that portion which we have 
described as being one profound peril. Here the utmost 
care was required to prevent their pretense from becom- 
ing a terrible reality. 

They came at last to a cleft in the mountain, so deep 
and sheer that it resembled a chimney, by which name 


hupliok’s plan carried out. 


41 


it was known to the guides. It was a well, many thou- 
sand feet deep, with clean-cut sides. 

Conyers came to a halt, fixing his alpenstock firmly in 
the snow, and looked significantly at his valet. 

“ This is just the place, Huplick,” he said. 

The man assented. 

Conyers drew off his muffler and flung it down into the 
abyss. It caught somewhere thirty feet below upon a 
mere point of projecting rock, as the two could see by a 
bit of burning stick the valet flung down after it. 

“That is enough,’' said Conyers. “So perishes Dane 
Conyers to his wife. I shall call myself Rollyn Conyers 
hereafter — remember, Huplick. If a report of my death 
gets into the English newspaper, I can contradict it easily 
enough. My wife will never see an English paper.” 

They resumed the descent. 

“Won’t she go to Lord Hawkhurst for money, sir?’ 
said Huplick. 

“ No, she don’t know of the earl’s existence or that he 
is any relative of mine. I never mentioned his name to 
her. As I had never seen him, and he had never seemed 
to know that there was such a person as Rollyn Dane 
Conyers, I never specified the name of my ‘ noble con- 
nections,’ in speaking of them to my wife.” 

They passed the perilous portion of the journey in 
safety. They had encountered no one upon the moun- 
tain. Now the sky began to darken, and a thin fall of 
snowflakes began to thicken the air. 

“We part here,” said Conyers, halting. “Don’t let 
too great an outcry be made. Don’t mention my 
relationship to Lord Hawkhurst. Let it be supposed 
that I am a poor devil of a tourist, who has lost his life 
by his foolhardiness, and but little will be said about 
me in the newspapers. I have left a little money at the 


42 


huplick’s plan carried out. 


Villa Belvoir. Advise my wife to take that and hide — 
you have your instructions, however.*' 

The young man took off his light cap, turning it 
wrong side out. It now appeared as a black cap. His 
great-coat was black. He produced a short gray beard 
from his pocket, and a wig to match, and donned them 
with Huplick's assistance. A heavy, coarse red muffler 
was also brought to light from beneath his coat, and a 
pair of spectacles assisted in his disguise. The hand- 
some, black-mustached youth had given place to a 
commonplace-looking elderly man. Even Beryl would 
not have known him now. 

Master and man parted after a few further words. 
Conyers knew his intended course well, and had in his 
pocket a map of the mountain. He had a few pro- 
visions, a stout alpenstock and a stout heart to sustain 
him. 

The snow-storm thickened as the night came on. 
Mountaineers were herding their flocks in the valleys 
below, and Conyers still encountered no one. He 
descended the mountain safely, and gained the Moro 
Pass after a long and laborious walk. 

It was with difficulty that Conyers kept to the road. 
The whirling snow-flakes blinded him ; the cold stung 
him sharply. He was obliged to advance with caution, 
lest he should miss his footing at one side or the other 
of the road. As the night deepened, a few stars glim- 
mered palely at intervals in the heavens, but for the 
most part darkness prevailed. 

An hour past midnight, cold, benumbed and half-dead 
with fatigue, he staggered into the mountain village of 
Macugnaga, and made his way to the Hotel Monte Moro. 
He managed to arouse the inn-keeper, and gained ad- 
mittance. The snow was brushed from his person, and 


huplick’s plan carried out. 


43 


he was cared for in the ample kitchen, and hot drinks 
were brought to him. He sat in the warm chimney- 
corn«r while he told his story to the sympathizing land- 
lord. 

“I come from Saas,” he said, feebly. I am going 
southward. I am a poor old man, friendless, a German, 
but I have money to requite your kind offices.*' 

They gave him supper and a bed. He locked himself 
in his own room, and slept profoundly until noon of the 
next day. Then he came forth in his clever disguise, 
and a hot breakfast was served to him. 

“ You were lucky to get through safely last night, 
sir,” said the landlord, waiting upon him. It was a 
bad night, sir, and the pass is dangerous in the darkness 
and snow. A man has come over this morning ; he 
arrived not an hour ago, and reports a fearful accident on 
^Monte Rosa yesterday afternoon.” 

“ An accident ? No one killed, I hope ? ” 

Yes ; a poor young Englishman had made the ascent 
with his servant and without a guide,” said the land- 
lord. ‘‘ He went up safely, but the snow blinded him* 
as he came down, and the storm came on, and he missed 
his footing and slipped, and fell headlong down the 
Devil’s Chimney. They never’ll see his body again. No 
guide would descend after it, except under urgent stress, 
and this poor fellow had no money nor friends. A party 
is making up at Zermatt to visit the scene of disaster.” 

“ If people will be rash, they must pay the penalty of 
their rashness,” said Conyers, helping himself to a fur- 
ther supply of coffee. “What was the young man’s 
name ?” 

“ I do not know, sir. I did not hear it.” 

Conyers finished his breakfast composedly, and settled 
his bill, soon after resuming his journey on foot. Hav- 


44 


HUPLICK^S PLAN CARKIED OUT. 


ing announced himself as poor, it was necessary to carry 
out the fiction as if true. 

He arrived before nightfall at Vanzone, and stopped 
at a little inn. The next day he walked to Vogogna. 
Upon the third day he reached Lake Maggoire. Upon 
this day, in a secluded spot upon the mountain-road, he 
made certain changes in his toilet, removed his false 
beard and wig, and shaved his face smooth. He stopped 
at Pallanza that night. The remainder of his journey 
was easy. He proceeded leisurely to Genoa, where he 
arrived three days later, and he engaged passage to 
Marseilles in a steamer starting the next day. 

It was nearly a week after leaving Genoa when he ar- 
rived in Paris, and domiciled himself at the Hotel 
Meurice. He dined in his own parlor, and rang for a 
file of GalignanVs newspapers dating back a fortnight. 
They were brought to him, and he proceeded to search 
the columns of news. He presently found what he 
sought, but the item was in the latest issue of the paper. 

How long it takes for a bit of news to reach Paris,’* 
thought Conyers. “ But if the accident had happened 
to a lord, the papers would have been ringing with the 
story a week ago. Let’s see what they say.” 

He read : 

‘‘ACCIDENT AT MONTE ROSA. 

“Upon the 23d ult., a young Englishman and his ser- 
vant attempted the ascent of Monte Rosa, without a 
guide. They made the ascent successfully, but a blind- 
ing snow-storm set in as they were descending, and the 
young man missed his footing and slipped for several 
yards, falling into the Devil’s Chimney, a well-like 
fissure many thousand feet in depth. The servant made 


huplick's plan caeeied out. 


45 


his way back to the Riffel Hotel, but the night had 
fallen and the storm had increased, so that not a guide 
could be found to visit the scene of the catastrophe that 
night. The next day a party of guides went from 
Zermatt, and a scarf of the unfortunate man was dis- 
covered by the light of the torches, as it hung many feet 
below the mouth of the fissure upon a projecting rock. 
The scarf must have caught as the poor fellow swept 
past to his death. No attempt was made to recover the 
body — such an attempt being useless. The young 
man's name was Vane Conroy. He was poor, and 
without relatives to mourn his untimely fate.” 

Conyers fairly gloated over this paragraph. 

Good ! Good !” he muttered, when he had finished. 
“And the name — Vane Conroy — that is clever. It is 
enough like my name to appear to Beryl a misprint, if 
she should chance to see the printed account, and no 
one knowing Dane Conyers would suspect that name to 
be intended for mine. I shall be the earl’s heir. By 
this time, Huplick has broken the sad news to Beryl 
that she is a widow.” 


46 


AS TO THE PLOT. 


CHAPTER V. 

AS TO THE PLOT. 

Huplick had carried out his part in the evil scheme 
he and his young master had concocted, with an appar- 
ent sincerity that stamped him as an actor of ability. 
He had returned to the Riffel Inn in a seeming agony 
of grief, had implored assistance in returning to seek 
for his master, and had appeared actually frantic, when 
informed that there were no guides nearer than Zermatt, 
the one who had been at the inn in the morning having 
departed ; and that an ascent of Monte Rosa in such a 
snow-storm and without guides was an impossibility. 

There was, of course, an official investigation of the 
supposed tragedy, but this lasted less than a day. 
Huplick was required to tell his story to the leading 
rulers of the town, but his testimony did not conflict in 
a single point with his previous statements. Two ser- 
vants of the Riffel Inn whom Conyers had encountered 
at the moment of setting out upon his excursion testi- 
fied that they had begged the young Englishman to 
employ guides, but he had answered them roughly, say- 
ing that he knew the mountain. Conyers’s travelling- 
bag was examined, but there was nothing in it which 
could serve as a clue to the history of the missing man 
— the conspirators had seen to that. There was a suit 
of clothes in plain black, and changes of undergarments 
— nothing more. 

The investigation over, Huplick claimed his master’s 
effects on the ground that there was money due him for 


AS TO THE PLOT. 


47 


services rendered. This claim was not heeded. The 
valise was retained by the authorities in view of a possi- 
ble claimant in the shape of a relative. Huplick 
remained at Zermatt two days, and then returned to 
Geneva. 

His first visit here was to the post-office. 

He found awaiting him a letter addressed in a dis- 
guised hand, which, on being opened, was found to 
contain these words, in the same disguised penmanship, 
bearing neither date nor address : 

“ All welir 

•This was a message Conyers had agreed to send him 
from the first postal village he reached in Italy. Hup- 
lick carefully destroyed the missive and made his way to 
the office of the Journal de Gen'tve^ a leading daily 
newspaper. 

Here he told his story of his master's fate, giving 
Conyers’s name as Vane Conroy.” He supported his 
story with a statement which he had drawn up at 
Zermatt, and to which were appended the name of the 
three guides who had visited with him the scene of the 
alleged disaster. 

His statement was published in the next day’s issue 
of the Journal^ and was substantially copied into Galig- 
nanVs Messenger at Paris at a later date — being the item 
which Conyers himself read in Paris, as we have des- 
cribed. 

Having arranged for this publication in the Journal 
Huplick proceeded to the Hotel de Russie. Conyers, 
on leaving for Zermatt, had left here his elegant dress- 
ing-bag and a small portmanteau. The valet produced 
an order for these things, received them, and took the 
afternoon boat to Ouchy. 

He arrived at the Villa Belvoir about sunset. The 


48 


As TO THE PLOT. 


gate was unlocked, and he let himself into the garden. 
No windows were open upon the side overlooking the 
road. Huplick went around to the rear gardens. The 
verandas above and below were unoccupied. He 
entered the kitchen and found Madame Pinnet in the 
act of skimming her pot-au-feu. 

She uttered a scream at sight of him, and dropped 
her ladle. 

So you've come. Monsieur," she cried, volubly, in 
French. “And without a warning, and here we dine 
but meagerly, as it might be a fast-day. The Madame 
has no appetite — poor dear ! Where is Monsieur ?" 

“ Where is Madame?" responded Huplick. “ I have 
news for her." 

“ In the kiosk, whence she watches continually for 
the steamers," said Madame Pinnet. 

Huplick turned down the garden paths, bearing in his 
hands his master’s luggage, and neared the kiosk. 

Beryl was leaning upon the balustrade overhanging 
the water, her eager gaze following the steamer from 
which Huplick had disembarked at Ouchy, and which 
was now on its way to Villeneuve and the intervening 
ports. 

The young bride looked slender — almost shadowy. 
She was dressed in white, and her tawny hair fell over 
her shoulders in a great mass of kinks and waves, and 
looked like a red flame in the glow of the sunset. She 
turned her head at the sound of Huplick’s slow footfalls, 
and he saw how pale and wistful, how wan and sorrow- 
ing was her face, even while its glorious beauty was 
undimmed. 

She saw him even as he did her, and in an instant the 
expression of her face had changed, becoming glad and 
beaming. She started toward him, and at the same 


AS TO THE PLOT. 


49 


moment the valet ascended the steps of the kiosk and 
laid down his burdens on the marble floor, and stood 
before her, grave, silent and as one overcome with a 
great grief. 

Beryl looked upon him in amazement. 

“ What is the matter, Huplick ?” she demanded. “ Is 
Mr. Conyers arrived ?” 

“ No, madam. I came alone.” 

The gladness died out of Beryl’s face. 

“Why are you here alone?” she asked, sharply. 
“ Why have you brought back my husband’s dressing- 
bag ? When will he return ?” 

“ I have ill news for you, madame,” said the valet, 
trying to speak gently, but succeeding only in being 
more sleek than usual. “I have brought back my 
master’s dressing-bag because it belongs to you now 
with- all his effects.” 

Beryl shuddered and her eyes dilated. 

“ I don’t understand,” she whispered. 

“ No ? My young master left his home in a strange 
and desperate mood,” said the valet, smoothly. “ He 
was wild and reckless, as I had never before seen him. 
We went to Zermatt. We made the ascent of Monte 
Rosa. He would not have a guide. There was a snow- 
storm — he made a misstep — he slipped and fell — ” 

Beryl sprang forward with a strange cry. 

“ He — he was hurt ?” she gasped. 

“ Can you bear the truth, madam ?” said Huplick, 
solemnly. “ My poor young master is dead !” 

There was a moment’s awful silence. Beryl did not 
shriek nor fall to the floor in a swoon, as the valet 
• expected her to do. But she looked at him with a face 
in which burned two great brown eyes like fires. A 


50 


AS TO THE PLOT. 


slow shudder crept over her slight frame, and she sunk 
down upon the bench without a word. 

A sensation of awed nervousness stole over the 
valet. 

‘‘ He never knew what hurt him, madam,’* he said, 
uneasily and awkwardly. He fell into a well-like 
fissure four thousand feet deep. Here is the statement 
of the guides.” 

He gave her the document, to which the three guides 
had appended their names. 

Beryl’s burning eyes scanned it, and her dazed brain 
managed to gather all its meaning. 

“ Dead !” she whispered. Dead !” 

“ Yes, madame, dead — and buried, too, for the fissure 
will serve as his grave. It is impossible to recover his 
body.” 

“ Dead !” repeated Beryl. “ Dead !” 

She covered her face, and the valet, after waiting a 
little for her to speak, stole away with his luggage, and 
returned to the house. The sunset faded and the night 
came on. 

Late in the evening the young wife bade Huplick be 
brought to her sitting-room. Madame Pinnet ventured 
a remonstrance, but as Beryl passed into her dressing- 
room unheeding, she called the sleek valet who was in 
the hall outside. He entered the dressing-room, find- 
ing Beryl in an easy-chair, and looking like some storm- 
swept flower. 

Madame Pinnet remained in the bed-room, weeping 
softly, and listening to the remarks of her young mis- 
tress and Huplick. 

Tell me more about my husband, Huplick,” said the • 
young wife, tremulously. Was there no last word for 
me? Did he never speak my name after leaving here ?” 


AS TO THE PLOT. 


51 


“ Never but once, madam, and that was on the fatal 
day when he met his death,” said Huplick glibly. 
“ Upon that day, as we rested upon the summit of jMonte 
Rosa, a change seemed to come over his wild and reck- 
less mood, and he says to me, says he, ‘ Huplick, do 
you believe in presentiments ? ' And says I, ‘ Why, no, 
sir.* Then says he, ‘ Huplick, I feel a strange depres- 
sion,* says he, ‘ which is like a presentiment of approach- 
ing evil. And,* says he, * it may be that something is 
going to. happen to me. If I should come to any harm,, 
he goes on, ‘ break the news gently to my poor wife, and 
tell her there’s money in my desk which she is to have, 
and she is to have all my effects. And tell her,’ says he, 
‘that I am not worthy her tears ; that I have been vile 
and wicked ; that I married her because I supposed her 
an heiress ; and tell her, too, that Dane Conyers is not my 
real name, but that my real name will never be known 
to her. Tell her these things if anything should happen 
to me, but not otherwise.’ ” 

“And those were his last words of me?” said Beryl. 

“ His very last — excepting — But I cannot tell the rest. 
He is dead, and the words had best not be repeated,” 
said Huplick, artfully. 

“ I command you to tell me,” said the young wife, 
with a sorrowful sternness. “ Whatever he said of me 
you must tell me.” 

“ He said this, madam,” said Huplick, with feigned 
reluctance. “ He said, if nothing did happen to him, he 
would never live with you again, never acknowledge you 
as his wife ; that, in fact, he would repudiate you. He 
married you under an assumed name, and the marriage 
is, therefore, not legal.” 

Beryl arose to her feet, the incarnation of outraged 
innocence. 


52 


AS TO THE PLOT. 


“ He said this — to you ?” 

‘‘Yes, madam, I swear it." 

“ And is it true ?" 

“ It is true that ‘ Dane Conyers ' is not his real name,” 
said Huplick. “ It is true that his marriage under an 
assumed name is no marriage. It is true that you were 
not his wife ; that you are now not his widow. It is 
true that his story of having an income of eight hun- 
dred pounds a year was a pure fabrication. He was an 
adventurer, bent on marrying an heiress. Had you 
proved to be an heiress, as he expected, he would have 
retained as his own the very respectable name under 
which he married you." 

Beryl pointed to the door. 

“ Leave me," she said. “ Go ! " 

“ Yes, madam. I will remain at the villa to-morrow, 
and shall be ready to give you further particulars in re- 
gard to my master’s death." 

He bowed low and withdrew. 

Beryl dismissed Madame Pinnet, thus finding herself 
alone. She paced to and fro like a caged lioness. A 
mere child of sixteen years, brought up in a convent- 
like exclusion, she was innocent as a dove, pure as an 
angel, and upon points of law as ignorant as a babe. 
Truthful, honest, frank and unsuspicious, she did not 
doubt a word of Huplick’s story. Her life had been so 
dreary always that it was easier for her to believe that 
evil should happen to her rather than good. 

After a while she caught sight of Conyers’s portman- 
teau and dressing-bag just inside the door. She picked 
them up, and carried them to a table under the light of 
clustering wax candles. The keys we/e attached to the 
handles of the luggage, and Beryl opened the portman- 


AS TO THE PLOT. 


53 


teau, and emptied out its contents. They consisted of 
clothing ; nothing more. 

She opened the dressing-bag presently. Here were 
his dainty perfumes, his gold-stoppered bottles, his 
carved ivory-handled brushes, and, yes, his little private 
tourist’s diary in which she had seen him writing, but 
which he had laughingly refused to show her. 

It was a little volume bound in cream-colored morocco, 
with gold-tipped corners, golden clasps, and a tiny 
golden padlock. The key was gone. Beryl remem- 
bered that Conyers had worn the key on his watch-chain. 
There was a small iron poker on the hearth, and Beryl 
pried off the dainty clasps, lock and all, with a relentless 
hand. 

Conyers had scarcely written in his diary after his 
marriage up to the time of his recent departure for 
Geneva, but after the concoction of his villainous scheme, 
he had written for several hours steadily in this little 
volume, making lying entries which were intended to 
destroy every lingering trace of Beryl’s love for him — 
should not Huplick have accomplished the work thor- 
oughly. 

Every page was full of references to her, her beauty, 
her sweetness, her wit — and her expected fortune. 
Then, under date of Geneva, upon the night of his flight 
from her, Conyers boldly avowed his rage and dis- 
appointment. 

“ I shall make sure that I get a rich wife of good birth 
next time,” he wrote. ‘‘As for Beryl, I shall abandon 
her at once. As she is not my wife, she can’t expect 
much money from me when we part. She’ll have to go 
back to the Pension de Bassett and become a junior 
teacher. Now that her reputation is gone, England is no 


54 


AS TO THE PLOT. 


place for her. She will have to bury herself somewhere 
on the Continent, change her name, and, if the Pension 
de Bassett won’t receive her, she’ll have to sevr, or teach 
English, or sing at a cafe. In time, with her beauty, 
she’ll get a husband, and so will end our pretty summer 
idyl on Lake Leman !” 

There was more in similar strain. Beryl read it all, 
and burned the book upon her hearth to ashes. 

The next morning she summoned Huplick to her in 
the little drawing-room. 

She questioned him closely upon many points. The 
valet placed in her hands the early morning paper from 
Geneva, and she read for herself the account of Con- 
yers’s alleged death. Huplick explained that his 
master’s name was misprinted, and declared that he 
should have the mistake corrected. 

“ I have no need of your services, Huplick,” said the 
girl, at length, ‘‘and you can go to-day. You can have 
Mr. Conyers’s clothes and all his effects. Everything — 
his money and all.” 

“But what shall you do, madam ? You will need the 
money,” suggested Huplick, anxiously. 

“ However much I may heed it, I will never touch 
a penny of his money !” declared Beryl. “I do not yet 
know what I shall do. Do you know the names of any 
of Mr. Conyers’s relatives or connections ?” 

“ No, madam. He never told me.” 

“ Now go.” 

“ One word, madam. Permit me to inquire as to 
your future movements. Shall you apply at the Pen- 
sion de Bassett for a refuge ?” 

“I have dismissed you,” said Beryl. 

She dismissed him with an imperious wave of the 


ALONE. 


55 


hand, and he went from her presence. But he did not 
leave the house. 

Beryl returned to her room. When Madame Pinnet 
sought her there about mid-day, she found the girl in 
bed,^ raving in the delirium of brain-fever. 


CHAPTER VI. 

ALONE. 

The little household was speedily informed of the 
condition of its young mistress. Madame Pinnet 
remained in charge of the patient, while Huplick 
hurried to Lausanne for a doctor, returning with a very 
worthy Swiss practitioner who had studied in France. 

Dr. Rozaud announced that the young girl was very 
ill, and the utmost care* was requisite to promote her 
recovery, which he deemed exceedingly doubtful. 

Beryl was very ill for weeks. Life and death battled 
in that little upper chamber for that wrecked young life, 
and it was life which won at last the victory. Upon 
the day on which the doctor proclaimed that the girl 
would live, Huplick, who had remained at the villa all 
this while, placed in the practitioner’s hands the sum of 
fifty pounds — the little store which Beryl had refused — 
and said : 

“ That is all she has in the world. It was left her by 
Monsieur. Pay yourself out of this money. Doctor, and 
should anything be left, give it to the lady.” 

The doctor took possession of the money, and on the 


56 


ALONE. 


same day Huplick departed, and was seen at the Villa 
Belvoir no more. 

Beryl passed through all the weary stages of convales- 
cence, and early in November was able to walk about 
the house. 

I take my leave of you to-day, madam,'' said the 
good Doctor Rozaud, as he came in one morning and 
found Beryl walking on the balcony wrapped in shawls 
— Beryl, indeed, but a wan, woeful Beryl, with thin face 
and great, burning eyes ; Beryl with her tawny wealth 
of hair all shorn, and with little rings of curls cluster- 
ing about her small head. “ You have need of me no 
longer.” 

I am almost well again. Doctor, and am anxious to 
go away,” said the girl, drearily. “ We hired the house 
for only three months, and the time expires with the 
present month.” 

‘‘Just so,” said the doctor, sympathizingly. “This 
climate will not be good for you this winter. You do 
well to go away. Your serving-man placed in my hands 
fifty pounds of your money — ” 

“ Which I beg you to keep, sir,” said Beryl. “ I have 
no need of it.” 

When he had taken his leave, well satisfied. Beryl 
called the housekeeper and went up-stairs with her. In 
the girl’s dressing-room were an^ioires filled with cloth- 
ing, which Dane Conyers had bought for her. There 
were costly dresses, trimmed with laces and embroider- 
ies, handsome shawls, a dressing-case, and a host of 
pretty trifles. There were a few jewels, also, not costly, 
but pretty, and of the value of several pounds. Beryl 
displayed these to Madame Pinnet. 

“ It’s a splendid trousseau, Madame,'’ said the house- 
keeper. “ That embroidered black silk is too lovely. 


ALONE. 


57 


And that reminds me. When you were so very ill, your 
boxes arrived from the Pension de Bassett. I had them 
put in the lumber-room.’' 

Send them here as soon as you go down,” said Beryl. 

Suzanne can help bring them. These jewels and the 
clothing, with the exception of the plain gold set and 
the thin dresses, are a present to you, Madame Pinnet, 
for your great kindness to me during my illness. I have 
no other way in which to show my gratitude or to re- 
ward you. The articles I have excepted are for Suzanne.” 

“ Madame is more than generous ; she is prodigal,” 
said Madame Pinnet, delightedly. ‘‘ But what will 
madame do for clothes for herself ? ” 

‘‘ I have plenty in my old school-boxes,” was the brief 
answer. 

The pretty outfit which Dane Conyers had bought 
for his young bride was divided between its new pro- 
prietors, and carried away. Then the shabby old school- 
boxes were brought up, and Beryl was left to herself. 

She remained a week longer at the Villa Belvoir, and 
then went away alone. 

Dressed in a blue serge school-suit, a seal-skin jacket, 
cap and muff, and deeply veiled, she entered a first-class 
carriage of the railway train at Lausanne, on her way 
to Geneva. 

On her arrival at Geneva, she drove to the Hotel de 
la Metropole, and registered her name as Miss Star. 

Then, taking with her a few old-fashioned jewels 
which she had always cherished as having belonged to 
her mother — that mother whose very name was hateful 
to her now — she went out into the streets and sought a 
jeweler’s shop on the Grand Quai du Lac, with the idea 
of disposing of them. 


58 


ALONE. 


She had a large old-fashioned watch set with small 
diamonds, a brooch resembling a wheel, made also of 
small diamonds, eardrops, bracelets and a slender chain. 
The jeweler remarked upon the extremely small size and 
bad color of some of the jewels, the ancient fashion of 
all the articles, and finally offered fifty pounds for the 
whole. 

Beryl accepted the offer without demur. 

The weather was bad, the month being November, 
but Beryl had formed a project which must be carried 
out without regard to the season. The next day after 
her arrival at Geneva, she set out by slow stages for 
Zermatt. 

Arrived at that little town, she made close inquiries 
after her truant husband ; visited the Riffel Inn, and 
questioned the waiters who had urged him to employ a 
guide. She was not well enough to climb Monte Rosa, 
even had the weather been good, which it was not. 
She had had no doubt of Huplick’s story ; no hopes that 
her husband still lived ; she did not know why she had 
been so eager to visit the spot where he was declared to 
have lost his life ; but she was now satisfied, beyond all 
doubt, that Dane Conyers was dead. 

She did not mention to any one her relationship to 
him, and went away a day or so later, returning to 
Geneva. 

‘‘And now,'' she said she to herself, drearily, “what 
am I to do ? Where shall I go ?" 

She could not return to the Villa Belvoir, had she so 
wished, she having given up the little villa on leaving it. 

She could not go to Mrs. and Miss Graham. They 
had been fair-weather friends, who had fallen away 
from her when the dreary storms had come upon her. 


ALONE. 


50 


She thought of the Pension de Bassett. It was the 
only home she had ever known. Mrs. Bassett had filled 
the place of mother to her in about the same degree that 
a patent artificial incubator fills the place of a mother- 
hen to young chicklings. Beryl had been brought to 
Vevay, a mere babe of two years, by her uncle and a 
young Irish nurse. The latter had remained at the Pen- 
sion with her young charge until Beryl was eight years 
of age, and all the tenderness and petting the girl had 
ever known had come from this Irish nurse. But the 
nurse had been sent back to her own country, and Beryl 
had taken her place among her fellow-pupils. Mrs. Bas- 
sett had not believed in ‘‘ coddling children,” as she 
expressed it. 

But she must have a heart,” thought Beryl, in her 
loneliness and misery. ^‘At any rate she will advise 
me. I will go to her, and ask her to tell me what to 
do.” 

In accordance with this resolve, she set out for Vevay 
by rail that very day, arriving at her destination, the 
Hotel Monnet, before evening. 

As soon as the darkness began to fall, she put on her 
veil, and stole out of the hotel, making her way toward 
the Pension. Twenty minutes' brisk walk brought her 
to the well-remembered garden door in the high brick 
wall inclosing the school-grounds. She stood here a 
few seconds in a painful indecision, her pride urging 
her even now to beat a retreat, but her necessities were 
too urgent to permit her pride to conquer. With a sud- 
den energy, she pulled the door-bell vigorously. 

She heard the portress crossing the court-yard ; heard 
the key grate in the lock, and the door swung open 
slowly. Beryl passed into the grounds with a swift and 
nervous movement. 


60 


ALONE. 


She gave the portress a card upon which she had 
prevously written the name ‘‘ Beryl/' The woman did 
not seem to recognize the veiled figure, and locked the 
garden-door and led the way to the house. 

There was a light in the drawing-room in a wing at 
the right of the house, and other lights in the refectory, 
where the pupils spent their evenings with their gov- 
ernesses, in awing at the left side of the building. The 
main edifice was dark and silent. 

The portress, after a scrutinizing glance at the attire 
of the young visitor, ushered her into the drawing- 
room, and departed in quest of Mrs. Bassett. Beryl’s 
heart began to throb violently. 

How will she receive me ?” she said to herself. ‘‘ If 
she turns me away in her anger, what is to become of 
me ?” 


MAERIED DRAGONS. 


61 


CHAPTER VII. 

MARRIED DRAGONS. 

Beryl was kept waiting nearly half an hour in the 
drawing-room of the Pension de Bassett. Her anxiety 
had become almost insupportable, when the door opened 
and Mrs. Bassett swept into the room followed by her 
husband. He was angular, solemn of visage and wear- 
ing a portentous frown. 

Mrs. Bassett was a woman of large and heavy frame, 
with a big red face and double chin, framed in gray 
corkscrew curls. She was dressed in a purple silk 
gown, with a train, and wore a lace cap with yellow 
ribbons. She carried herself with an air of majesty, was 
pompous, severe and judicial. She was, in fact, com- 
mandant of the establishment, the Reverend Edward 
being her aide-de-camp. 

Beryl arose at the entrance of this couple, and ad- 
vanced a few paces, throwing back her veil, and disclos- 
ing a pale, thin, anxious face, worn by illness and grief, 
and a pair of imploring brown eyes, piteous in their 
beseeching. She held out her thin hand. 

But Mrs. Bassett drew back as if fearing contamina- 
tion, and said, stiffly : 

‘‘ I received your card, madam, at the hands of my 
portress. Permit me to say that I am quite at a loss to 
understand your presence here, after all that has 
occurred.” 


62 


MARRIED DRAGONS. 


After all that has occurred repeated the reverend 
gentleman, severely. 

The girl’s hand fell to her side. She tried to speak, 
but her lips quivered, and she could not command her 
voice. 

You brought a great deal of trouble upon us, madam, 
by your elopement with an adventurer,” continued Mrs. 
Bassett, with virtuous severity. You might have 
ruined the reputation of my house. As it is, one pupil 
was withdrawn by her parents, who feared your evil 
example might be contagious. Other parents have 
written us, urging us to guard our pupils more closely 
— as if girls were ever kept more secluded than these 
innocent vestals of my household ! You abused our 
trust ; you have proved yourself base and unworthy !” 

‘‘ Utterly base and unworthy,” said Mrs. Bassett's 
marital echo, with a deepening frown. 

Mrs. Bassett throned herself in a large chair. Beryl 
sank into the nearest seat, weak and trembling. 

“I hear,” said Mrs. Bassett, “that the retribution 
which overtakes the guilty, sooner or later, has over- 
taken you. I have told as much of your terrible story 
as is consistent with delicacy to my pupils, holding you 
up to them as an example of the results of disobedience. 
I am told by one of my governesses, Mademoiselle Bartol, 
who has a sister engaged as under-teacher in a school at 
Lausanne, that one Doctor Rozaud, who practices there, 
has told that your husband is dead. Is this story true ?” 

“Yes, madam, he is dead.” 

“ Strange retribution !” breathed Mrs. Bassett. 

“ Striking retribution !” murmured Mr. Bassett. 

“ Sticken down in his sin !” said Mrs. Bassett. “ Cut 
off in his youth like an unprofitable fig tree. I have 


MARRIED DRAGONS. 


63 


heard, too, through Mademoiselle Bartol, that ‘ Conyers * 
was but an assumed name, and that the man calling him- 
self ^ Conyers ' had a wife in England, and that you had 
no right to bear any other than your maiden name. I 
see you don’t wear mourning for him. That shows 
that a faint idea of respectability lingers with you. It 
shows, also, that you do not consider yourself his widow. 
If he married you under his assumed name, you are not 
his widow. You are neither maid, wife nor widow ! 
What are you ?” 

A girl who has been bitterly wronged, who has 
nearly lost all her faith in God and humanity ! A girl 
who stands utterly friendless and homeless in the world, 
and who has come to you for advice. You are the only 
protectors my childhood knew. You are the only 
parents I ever had. Will you not pity me, erring and 
unfortunate as I am, and help me ?” 

She looked at Mrs. Bassett with pleading eyes whose 
eagerness was pitiful. 

That lady puffed herself up importantly, and 
answered : 

I am surprised that you should come to us whose 
confidence you so terribly outraged. It is like the story 
of the prodigal son in the Scriptures. But we are not 
your parents, miss. We owe a duty to ourselves and 
the innocent beings in our charge. We cannot take you 
back into our pure home to contaminate our pupils. 
No, miss, when you passed out of this paradise, the 
angel with the flaming sword took up his position at 
our humble gate. There can be no re-entrance for you.” 

“ Positively no re-entrance !” said Mr. Bassett. 

“ I do not ask to take my former place as your pupil. 
I realize that my past is dead beyond resurrection. 
But will you not assist me to procure a situation as a 


64 


MARRIED DRAGONS. 


governess ? Your recommendation would enable me to 
find a position at Geneva or Villeneuve.” 

You ask an impossibility,” replied Mrs. Bassett, 
coldly. “ What ! Shall I recommend as a teacher of 
innocent youth a girl with a history like yours ? I will 
not incur such risks, for your true character would 
sooner or later be discovered, and you would stand 
revealed as a girl who had been no legal wife, while 
thinking yourself such — as the girl who had eloped from 
a school of the very highest character, with a low 
adventurer.” 

With an adventurer !' echoed Mr. Bassett. 

Will you tell me what to do, Mrs. Bassett?” asked 
the girl, desperately. ‘‘ I am well qualified to teach, 
but without recommendation I cannot hope to secure a 
situation. Can a girl like me find sewing to do ? Can 
I get a place as lady’s maid without recommendation ?” 

Mrs. Bassett shook her head. Mr. Bassett employed 
the same gesture to express also his stern negative. 

‘‘ What remains to me ? Perhaps it will come to 
that at last I shall do as he bade me — sing at the 
and her tone was full of intense bitterness. ‘‘I sha’n’t 
need references for that.” 

Mrs. Bassett looked her horror. 

‘‘ I can hardly believe that you are the innocent girl 
of last term,” she said severely. The descent of the 
downward path is indeed easy. Was it your adventurer 
companion who urged you to sing in the cafis ? You 
seem to take kindly to the idea. Pause, misguided girl, 
upon the brink of perdition. Stop where you are.” 

“Another step,” murmured Mr. Bassett, “may pre- 
cipitate you into the black gulfs of endless woe.” 

“ Shall I starve ?” demanded Beryl, defiantly, her eyes 
flashing stormily. “ Is there no honest way in which I 









w*,. • C-. . J fT: , 

• . r 


' * ■■ ■ ^ • ._' 

r- \ • 

^■'r' X ■ ■ L. 

*w-» ' ^ »i ' ' 

» . ■ •*. • ' ' », - , - 





r 


m ' ■ 


a 


* 7 $ * 





f . - 


■-'' -7 

- ♦ ' 




■"' V ■: 

, ’ ’■.' 7 

.r - 




r -/i- 



‘ < »r»c - ^ 




^ ' 

4:-" 


J^. 


'<■ •'• 




^ -. 






, .J 


irV 

ml 



L? 4 - - -;’* ■ 

", <> V , : - 




f*w. j 

• • K : 




',•1. .- 


« •_ 


_.t‘ * .■' '. ■* 

>1 i'- • .’JL ■ ■ ' • r - ,: ’■' *• 

. ;//. I • •' •• -iT. ’ 

* i/'if . ■ j.r ^ . *■ * • 


• .-r.H 


V.- 


?i^. 


* 


§* 


: = 



■^1 ^f- 


_1 

-’5 •, 




*' -1 

^otSL ^;rv '■••,. *V-. • — 

'. . - -I * -5r 4 


*• 1 4 ^ V * *• I f - ' /. 

. JL •, .? . .- -t ' -. V V -- 

, 5 f/. -J-.- '-.. ^ 


-n . ^J' 

. 



•V 


. - t 


P 

,; 4^' 


-.■, ■4 


rt. ‘ 


V 1 


■/.I 







.’I 








f ' 




t ■ .1 






V 



. ‘ - ] ■•^, <■ *‘ 

.n^Bt tafJl] 


s .-/ ; ‘ i:'‘HHRc.V» ■^•' - ^ , r 

*1 ,:r-j • • ,: 


• V, 







^ * 


u:r-. . • . ' • 

^ ‘t: : 

c %• 4 * r* ■ # 

■jf • • ’"V**" 


y>'.- *-'i 






. / . 


■ t 


' -•v’-l 

* •■• ■.«s 


■ ■ '-I 


s- y ** ^ ••’ "\"--.V^^'^>rar^V 

,'v- ■ - ■ V 

< ^ • . 'M ^ : ., 'V 




E» 


■ ■■ vr . . r -....: V 






-t 


sr 



S r. 

r.S/^ 

- _ ; 


\ I 


l' I 


^.1 &|L''; 

..* • ^ • % ' 


N 

04 


"A \ 


■ '• fe-' ’V . 

‘fc-*-. •'* 7-' 

vr*.. • ••..,■*•. . r . 



vf^ 


.> . • -;:S:^ilii- • ■*;• '% '■ 


MARRIED DRAGONS. 


65 


can earn my bread ? I would have been glad to die, but 
I could not die. I cannot destroy my own life. How 
shall I sustain it ? Because I have been foully wronged, 
is there no place for me on earth — no roof to shelter 
me ? ** 

Mrs. Bassett looked appalled at this outburst. 

“ I think that meekness and a humble and crushed 
spirit would better become you, miss ! " she ejaculated. 
“ What right have you to expect anything whatever after 
what you have done ? We can do nothing for you — 
nothing whatever. We sent your luggage to you, and 
therewith washed our hands of you, wretched girl.” 

‘‘ Most unhappy girl ! ” murmured Mr. Bassett. 

Beryl arose to her feet with a haughty movement. 

You know how ignorant I am of the world,” she said, 
striving to speak calmly. “ Have you no word of advice 
for me ? Will you not tell me where to go ?” 

Where should you go but to your kindred?” de- 
manded Mrs. Bassett. Go to your uncle, whom you 
have justly offended. Go, kneel at his feet, and implore 
his pardon. He will, to screen your shortcomings from 
the world, no doubt provide for you.” 

“Yes,” echoed Mr. Bassett ; “go to England.” 

Mrs. Bassett rose up, ponderous, important — a Roman 
matron. She delivered herself : 

“ We will not detain you longer. In your future life, 
whatever its vicissitudes, we beg you to refrain from 
mentioning that you were educated at the Pension de 
Bassett.” 

Despite all that she had suffered. Beryl’s old nature 
flashed up under these gratuitous insults. She smiled 
bitterly, and made a mocking, sweeping courtesy, ex- 
claiming : 

“ Rest assured, madam, that I am as ashamed of my 


66 


MARRIED DRAGONS. 


instructors as they can be of me. Allow me to bid you 
good evening.’' 

She swept to the door like a young empress, haughty, 
imperious and outwardly cool, leaving Mr. and Mrs, 
Bassett transfixed with astonishment. 

When she undressed herself for bed, she did what she 
had never done before — knelt and prayed for help and 
comfort from above. She had said her prayers every 
night of her life, but now in truth she prayed. She 
arose from her knees with a vague sense of comfort, and 
crept into bed. 

But she did not sleep. For hours she reviewed the 
events of her brief life ; for hours she tossed on her 
pillow, considering one plan after another. 

The next morning she arose early. She discovered 
that she had time to catch the morning express-train to 
Geneva, and made all haste to do so. From Geneva, 
where she spent the day in a little upper room at the 
Hotel de la Metropole, she took the evening express- 
train for Paris by way of Lyons, and spent the night in 
wakeful thought, watching the sparks as they drifted 
back from the engine in the darkness, and planning out 
her future in case her uncle should not receive her. 

She had been hopeless, bitter and despairing ever 
since her heavy troubles had fallen upon her. She was 
bitter still and without hope, but as she journeyed on 
through the night, a strange courage came to her ; her 
soul rose up strong and brave to meet her future. She 
was only sixteen ; surely she had not lived out her life. 
There must be something good in store for her whose 
whole happiness had been so brief, whose griefs had 
been so terrible. 

Beryl arrived at London in the evening, two days 
later, spending the night at a private hotel. The next 


MAERIED DRAGONS. 


67 


morning dawned with a drizzling rain, and proved to be 
the beginning of one of those gray, dreary, cheerless 
November days that are found nowhere in all the world 
so cheerless as in England. She took an early train to 
Guilford, in Surrey, the station nearest her uncle’s 
residence. She had left her boxes at the Euston Square 
station, and had only a hand-bag as she alighted at 
Guilford and engaged a “fly” to convey her to her 
journey’s end. 

“ Do you know Starwood ?” she inquired of the 
flyman. “ I wish to go there.” 

“It is five miles out,” said the driver. “ I know the 
place as well as I know Guilford. Have you there in 
’arf an hour, miss.” 

Beryl entered the vehicle, the driver mounted his box, 
and she was presently being borne at a good rate of 
speed toward her uncle’s residence. She would have 
given much to know what reception would be accorded 
her. 


68 


THE 20TH OF OCTOBER. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE 20TH OF OCTOBER. 

Upon one of the wildest, boldest bluffs on the West 
Cornish coast, between Pendeen Cove and Gurnard's 
Head, in the very teeth of the great Atlantic gales, 
stands a stern and gray old castle known as Hawks' 
Cliff. It is the ancestral seat of the Earls of Hawkhurst. 
The castle, a noble pile of vast extent, with towers, turrets 
and battlements, has two ornamental fronts, one facing 
seaward, the other looking out upon velvety lawns, 
elaborate gardens, a grand old park and a broad and 
winding carriage drive, which descended gently to the 
highway below and two miles distant. 

The present Earl of Hawkhurst had, very early in life, 
during the lifetime of his father, the late earl, married a 
lady of high birth — Lady Portia Marly, the daughter of 
an earl, but she had died years afterward, childless. He 
was now only fifty years of age. His favorite nephews, 
one of whom had been his heir-apparent, had recently 
perished together in a yachting excursion off the coast 
of Norway, as he had written to Dane Conyers. Conyers 
was the next in order of succession to the title, but the 
heir of the Hawkhurst wealth remained to be chosen by 
its present possessor. 

Conyers and Desmond, although his kindred, he had 
never seen. There had never seemed the faintest possi- 
bility that either of them would be his heir, and the earl 


THE 20TH OF OCTOBER. 


69 


had scarcely known until recently of their existence. 
Conyers was the son of a second cousin, whom his lord- 
ship had especially disliked, and who had changed his 
own name of Desmond to that of Conyers upon his mar- 
riage with an heiress of the latter family name. Noble 
Desmond, who stood to him in an even less degree of 
relationship, had lost his parents in childhood, and had 
since resided with a guardian in the north of England. 

The 20th of October was the date he had appointed 
for the arrival of the two young gentlemen at Hawks’ 
Cliff. Upon the morning of that day, a carriage had 
been sent to Penzance, there being a possibility that one 
of the young men, at least, might arrive by the early 
train. 

Neither of them made an appearance, however, and 
the carriage remained at Penzance, in accordance with 
the earl’s directions, to await the later trains. 

At a late hour of the afternoon, the earl stood at a 
wide casement- window of his great library, looking out 
upon the sea. 

He was a man of gigantic figure, with brawny chest, 
powerful arms, and an appearance of boundless vitality. 
He looked like one of the grand old vikings of the Norse 
legends, with his rough-hewn features, his great, massive 
head, covered with a dense growth of fiery-red hair, his 
frosty blue eyes, with lightning gleams in them, his 
ruddy complexion, and his long beard, which fell upon 
his breast in a mass. A man of fierce will, strong pas- 
sions, choleric, vindictive, ill-tempered, yet, withal, brave 
and generous — such was Gray Desmond, tenth Earl of 
Hawkhurst. 

A sudden impatience seized upon him. He jerked a 
bell-pull near at hand. A moment later, a gray-haired 
serving-man, dressed in black, entered the room. 


70 


THE 20TH OF OCTOBER. 


“ Has the carriage come yet ?” demanded the earl, in a 
resonant voice, without turning his head from the win- 
dow. 

“ No, my Lord.*' 

‘Ht is time, if my guests arrived on the afternoon 
train. It will probably be here very soon. Let the young 
gentlemen be shown up to their rooms immediately upon 
their arrival, before coming to me. As soon as they 
arrive you may tell me.** 

Some fifteen minutes later there was a low knock 
upon the door, and the servant re-appeared. 

“ If you please, my Lord,** he said, bowing low, “ the 
carriage has arrived, with Mr. Conyers.** 

“ Humph !'* muttered the earl, in a tone of dissatisfac- 
tion. “ Show him in here when he comes down from 
his room.** 

The servant went out, and the earl drummed his fingers 
restlessly upon the broad sheet of plate-glass forming 
the upper half of the window. 

Of course the Conyers-Desmond would arrive first,** 
he said to himself. “ If he*s like his father, he*ll be as 
prompt as a jackal at a feast. But the son may not 
resemble the father. I won’t judge him beforehand. 
There may be a streak of good in him. He shall have a 
fair chance, and so shall Noble Desmond. I should like 
one of my own race to inherit the Desmond property. 
Ah !’* he added, with a fierce catching of his breath and 
a sudden convulsion of his features, “ if it had not been 
for my own accursed pride and devilish temper, I might, 
perhaps, have had children of my own to inherit my title 
and wealth. Men call me successful, a marked man, one 
of the foremost men of my time, and all that ; but I 
would give all my empty honors to be able to transmit 
what I own to the offspring of my own loins ; to hear a 


THE 20TH OF OCTOBEE. 


71 

voice calling me * Father to feel that, when I am gone, 
one whom I had called into being would weep for me. 
Bah ! I am growing childish.” 

There was a tremulous quiver of his full, stern lips, but 
the next moment they had resumed their usual calm 
repose. 

He turned, as steps were heard in the corridor with- 
out, and the door was flung open, giving admittance to 
Dane Conyers. 

Mr. Rollyn Conyers,” announced the servant, that 
being the name the visitor had given him. 

The door closed, and Conyers came forward, in a full 
dinner dress, dark and handsome, his inky black eyes 
glittering, a smile upon his beardless mouth. He had 
shaved off his mustache and whiskers, it will be remem- 
bered, and he had never looked to better advantage than 
now. 

The earl stood immovable in the full glow that came 
through the casement, and the lightning gleams from 
his frosty eyes seemed almost to pierce to the young 
man's heart. It was to Conyers’s signal advantage that 
he did not resemble his father. It was even more to his 
advantage that he could assume such a look of pleasant 
frankness as now lit up his features. 

The earl extended his hand ; Conyers clasped it, not 
too fervently, but with respectful warmth. 

‘‘ I am glad to see you, Mr. Conyers,” said Lord Hawk- 
hurst in his stately manner. I was not sure that my 
letter would reach you. My steward delivered it to your 
bankers in London, who said that you were somewhere 
upon the Continent.” 

“ I was in Italy,” said Conyers. ** I had been making 
a summer tour through the Austrian Tyrol, and was 
making my way home. I was much shocked to learn of the 


72 


THE 20TH OF OCTOBER. 


tragic death of your nephews, my Lord, although I fear 
I may not possess sufficient delicacy to offer my condo- 
lences in a proper manner/' 

‘‘ Humph !" said the earl. Pray be seated, Mr. 
Conyers. I have a few questions to ask you, sub- 
stantially the same as those I wrote in my letter. Your 
presence here might be deemed sufficient answer ; yet I 
have too much at stake not to thoroughly assure myself 
upon certain points which I have at heart." 

Conyers took the seat indicated to him. The earl 
seated himself also, leaning one arm upon a writing- 
table. 

“ I sufficiently explained my reasons, and need not 
therefore go into detail in regard to them," said Lord 
Hawkhurst. I have seen enough of unequal marriages, 
and do not approve of them," and he frowned darkly. 
‘‘ No low-born woman shall ever rule at Hawks’ Cliff. 
He who inherits my wealth must allow me to select the 
woman who shall reign here when I am gone. Are you 
married ?" 

The question came abruptly, like an unexpected 
douche of cold water. Conyers started, and his face 
paled a little ; but he answered promptly and with a 
careless laugh : 

“No, my Lord. I am but three-and-twenty, and 
have not yet thought of love or marriage." 

“ Humph !" said the earl. “ You are fortunate to 
have escaped marriage. You are not even engaged to 
marry ?" ~ 

“ I am not even engaged," replied Conyers. 

“ That is well. I have my eyes, upon a young lady, 
titled and an heiress, whose estates I desire to unite to 
the greater ones of Hawkhurst. Shall you be willing 
to see her, prepared to like her, and to marry her i*" 


THE 20TH OF OCTOBER. 


73 


Again the dark face of Dane Conyers paled, but he 
answered in a firm voice, with a thought, perhaps, of his 
beautiful young wife and her wrongs : 

“When I came here, my Lord, at your summons, I 
came heart-free and hand-free, resolving to try and fill 
to you the place of your lost nephew. I shall endeavor 
to conform my will to yours. I feel assured that any 
alliance you would propose to me would be eminently 
suitable for me, and I only await an introduction to the 
lady to enter the lists as her suitor.” 

“ Humph ! neatly said,” declared the earl, and yet he 
did not look altogether delighted, as he probably ought 
to have done. Possibly^ tyrannical as he sometimes 
was, he liked a little independence in other people 
occasionally, and was apt to suspect his worshipers of 
sycophancy. 

At this point the door opened, after a preliminary 
knock, and the servant announced : 

“ Mr. Noble Desmond.” 

The earl arose to receive him. 

Mr. Desmond was in full dinner dress, like Conyers, 
but a greater contrast to Beryl’s husband could not 
have been imagined. 

He was a fair young fellow with an indolent air that 
partook of effeminacy. He was tall, with a stalwart 
frame that was undeniably graceful. He was further- 
more high-bred, with a courtesy that seemed to be no 
mere outward polish, but an outcome of a generous and 
courteous nature. With his gray eyes, brown hair and 
silky mustache, he might have been called handsome. 

“ I hardly know what to make of him,” thought the 
earl, puzzled by Desmond’s graceful indolence. “ I fancy 
I shall like Conyers best.” 

The earl gave the new-comer a gracious welcome, and 


7i 


THE 20TH OF OCTOBER. 


exchanged the usual greetings with him. The little 
clock on the mantel-piece chimed the half-hour past 
six. Half an hour still remained before dinner. The 
sunset glow had faded from the west, and the room was 
filling with shadows. Lord Hawkhurst rang for lights ; 
the curtains were drawn, and a cheery glow came from 
the two grate-fires, one at each end of the room. 

“ How did you come from Penzance, Desmond ?’' 
inquired the earl, when he found himself again alone 
with his guests. How was it you missed the Hawk- 
hurst carriage ?” 

“ I arrived at Penzance in a friend's yacht, and just 
after the Hawkhurst carriage had left," replied Des- 
mond. “ I came over in a fly." 

“ You have been yachting, then ?" 

Yes, my Lord, for the last month, with a party of 
friends." 

‘‘ Are you rich ?" 

No, my Lord. I have three hundred pounds a 
year, left me by my father ; that is all," said Desmond. 
‘‘ I am trying to study law." 

‘‘ Humph ?" said the earl. Three hundred a year ! — 
clerk’s hire ! Should think you’d have to do something. 
I suppose you will give up studying law now, and try to 
get a living out of me. I asked you certain questions in 
my letter, to which your presence here would appear a 
sufficient answer. I have just made this remark to Con- 
yers, and have questioned him yet more closely, as I shall 
question you. In a case like this, one cannot be too 
careful. I am not one to build upon untried ground. 
As you have come here, it must be with intent to please 
me. Are you married ?" 

‘‘ No, my Lord," answered Desmond, with a smile. 


THE 20TH OF OCTOBEE. 


75 


He was but two-and-twenty years of age — a year 
younger than Conyers. 

“ Are you engaged to be married ?’* 

Desmond replied in the negative. 

“ Are you heart-free V* 

The answer was in an affirmative. 

I shall claim the privilege of choosing the wife of my 
heir,” said the earl. “ I know a young heiress of noble 
birth whom I desire shall be mistress here when I am gone. 
Conyers is willing to enter the lists as her suitor. What 
do you say ?” 

‘‘I say,” said Desmond, his face flushing, ‘‘that I 
desire to select my own wife — with all deference to your 
judgment, my Lord. Marriage is something too sacred 
to be managed as a mere matter of business. I believe 
in love, although I know nothing of it by experience. I 
will meet your young friend, my lord, and treat her with 
courtesy ; I could not do otherwise. If I should love 
her, I would try to win her. If I should not love her, I 
doubt whether all the world could tempt me to marry 
her.” 


76 


THE MISTRESS OF CRAOTHORPE. 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE MISTRESS OF CRAGTHORPE. 

During the weeks immediately subsequent to the 
arrival of his two young kinsmen at Hawks’ Cliff, the earl 
entertained them with a hospitality that was almost 
princely. He placed thoroughbred horses at their dis- 
posal ; he enjoined them to use at their pleasure his 
handsome yacht^ which was kept at anchor in the bay 
below ; every facility for hunting over his lordship’s pre- 
serves was afforded them, and the vast resources of enter- 
tainment within the castle were all open to them without 
reserve. 

At the end of the month, so impartial was the manner 
of the earl, that it was impossible to guess at his con- 
clusions regarding the young gentlemen — if, indeed, he 
had yet arrived at any conclusion ; but Conyers, sharp 
sighted as a lynx, believed himself the earl’s favorite and 
his predestined heir. 

Conyers had cause for this belief. He had sacrificed 
his honor, his affection for Beryl, and all the best instincts 
of his nature, to win the glittering prize of the earl’s 
wealth ; and, having done so much, nothing remained 
that he would not do. He was compliant almost to ser- 
vility. His views upon all subjects were found to con- 
form to those of the earl ; he proved himself an 
appreciative listener, and though he was too wise to flat- 
ter his august relative, yet his manner toward the earl 
was always marked by a graceful, deferential and pro- 


THE MISTRESS OF CRAGTHORPE. 


77 


found respect that constituted the subtlest form of 
flattery. He made himself familiar with Lord Hawk- 
hurst’s political career, studied his speeches, echoed his 
prejudices, and was enthusiastic in favor of whatsoever 
the earl liked. 

Desmond was also deferential in his manner toward 
his titled kinsman ; he also strove to win the earl’s favor, 
but he seemed to be a man of principle instead of 
impulse — as was Conyers — and he was seldom false to 
his own convictions of justice. Sometimes, when called 
upon, he expressed, in a respectful manner, opinions 
directly contrary to those of the earl, who, impatient of 
contradiction, displayed an anger that was unreasoning. 

During these weeks, Conyers received several letters 
from his valet at Lausanne. He was kept informed of 
the progress of Beryl’s dangerous illness. 

One morning in November, Lord Hawkhurst invited 
the young gentlemen into his library, and something in 
his manner declared to them that he was about to make 
to them a communication of importance. 

The morning was unusually clear and bright for the 
season, with cool, crisp air, and sunlight on sea and 
shore. Sea-coal fires glowed and flamed in the grates ; 
the wide projecting windows were all unshuttered, let- 
ting in floods of light ; and the roar of the impatient 
sea, as it lashed itself against the rocks at the base of the 
castle hundreds of feet below, had strange music. 

The earl had preceded his guests by several moments, 
and was standing before the fire, his red hair and beard 
glowing like flames in the fire-light, his figure overflow- 
ing with strength, his ruddy face, rough-hewn and mas- 
sive, instinct with power and a rugged grandeur, his 
cold eyes full of gleams. He looked every inch the grand 
old viking. 


78 


THE MISTRESS OF CRAGTHORPE. 


Be seated, young gentlemen,*' he said, inclining his 
head. I suppose it is unnecessary to remind you that 
you have been here a month to-day. This is the 20th of 
November.’* 

Noble Desmond bowed gravely, and sat down at a 
writing-table near at hand. Dane Conyers took posses- 
sion of a luxurious lounging-chair. 

“ Possibly you expect me to announce my decision 
between you this morning and proclaim one of you my 
heir,** continued Lord Hawkhurst. “ If so, I must dis- 
appoint you. I am not yet prepared to choose between 
you. You are both of my blood, and I do not wish to 
decide so important a matter as this of the Hawkhurst 
inheritance without due care and thought. I should 
like to study you both more at length. I trust you are 
not tired of Hawks* Cliff, and are not lonely here. 
How much longer can you remain ?” 

As for me,** said Conyers, with a suave smile, I can 
remain until you are tired of me, my Lord. I shall be 
delighted to share your hospitality.” 

“ You, Desmond ?’* 

Desmond’s fair face flushed, as he answered, with his 
usual indolence, but with underlying gravity : 

I am not an idle fellow, my Lord, and I cannot 
promise to remain indefinitely. I am reading law, and 
I must return to town by the ist of December.” 

‘‘ Remain at least until January,” said Lord Hawk- 
hurst. ‘‘Come, come, Desmond. Don’t knit your 
brows in that fashion. I am not used to being denied, 
and I wont take a denial. If you cannot gratify me in 
one thing, how can you reasonably expect me to do 
very much for you ?” 

“ I am willing to do anything I can to gratify you, my 
Lord,” said Desmond. “ Since you desire it, I will 


THE MISTKESS OF CRAGTHORPE. 


79 


remain at Hawks* Cliff until January ; but in that case I 
must go up to town this week for a day or two on busi- 
iness. I had not arranged to stay away so long.'* 

“ Go to-morrow," said the earl. ‘‘ The sooner you go, 
the sooner you’ll return. I have something in hand for 
to-day. I have a call to make this morning, and I 
desire you and Conyers to accompany me." 

The two young men exchanged glances. 

‘‘ Shall you go to Penzance, my Lord ?" inquired Con- 
yers. 

No — to Cragthorpe, a country-seat, some seven 
miles distance from Hawks’ Cliff," replied the earl. 
‘‘ It is a fine old estate, with a long rent-roll, and belongs 
to a girl not more than twenty years old. Miss Octavia 
Windsor. She returned yesterday from the Continent, 
where she has summered with her friends. She 
will probaby go up to town in January. I have not 
seen her in months, and my acquaintance with her is 
extremely limited, but I desire to pay my respects to 
her at the earliest possible moment." 

“ Is she the young lady to whom you alluded upon 
the day of our arrival at Hawks’ Cliff, my Lord ?" asked 
Conyers. think you spoke of that young lady as 
being an especial favorite of yours." 

Well, what is to hinder Miss Windsor’s being my 
especial favorite ?’’ demanded Lord Hawkhurst. “ I do 
not know her very well, personally, but I know her 
family, root and branch, stock and stem. A fine old 
family — as fine as any in Cornwall. Her father was my 
most intimate friend in boyhood and early manhood. 
We were like twin brothers — second editions of Damon 
and Pythias. I was fierce, passionate and revengeful ; 
he was a pale, gentle, student sort of a fellow, as refined 
as a woman. We married sisters — that was eight-and- 


80 


THE MISTRESS OF CRAGTHORPE. 


twenty years ago/* and the earl sighed. I married 
Lady Portia Marly, and he married Lady Octavia 
Marly. My poor wife died a year after our marriage, 
leaving no children. Lady Octavia lived many years 
and bore several children, of whom but this one survives. 
Lady Octavia is dead, and Windsor is dead ; and this 
girl, Octavia, is mistress of Cragthorpe. She was edu- 
cated in France, her mother’s relatives having charge of 
her.” 

“ And she is a great heiress,” said Conyers, musingly. 
‘‘ Do the Windsor estates devolve to the distaff line, my 
Lord r 

In default of male heirs,” replied the earl. There 
was a nephew, a cousin of Octavia, and son of a younger 
brother of my friend who was brought up as the heir ; 
who was the heir, in fact ; but he was of a roving dis- 
position, and went off to the antipodes three or four 
years ago and died there. The estate was strictly 
entailed, unlike mine, and while her cousin lived, 
Octavia’s fortune was respectable, nothing more. His 
death has made her a person of great wealth and impor- 
tance. There is nothing on earth would give me so 
much pleasure as to know that my friend Windsor’s 
daughter would some day be mistress of Hawks’ Cliff, 
and that these two great estates of Hawks’ Cliff and Crag- 
thorpe would some day be merged into one. I have 
information that Miss Windsor is heart-free. If one of 
you should become her successful suitor, that one would 
stand immeasurably the better chance of becoming my 
heir.” 

Half an hour later. Lord Hawkhurst and his guests 
set out on their visit. 

Cragthorpe was a handsome mansion of large extent 
and considerable architectural pretension, situated 


THE MISTRESS OF CRAGTHORPE. 


81 


seven miles distant from the bold headland crowned by 
Hawks' Cliff Castle, and down the coast. It stood upon 
a level sweep of green lawn, in the indentation of a small 
bay known as Craghaven, and to the eastward of the 
dwelling lay the park, the woods and the farms that made 
up the estate. 

At the moment in which the Earl of Hawkhurst and 
his young kinsmen set out to pay their morning call at 
Cragthorpe, its young mistress was walking to and fro 
in the pale November sunshine upon the grassy terrace 
in front of her dwelling. 

She was a tall, handsome girl, with a figure generally 
designated as “ fine," being large and well-rounded, 
approaching heaviness. She moved with well-bred 
indolence and with tutored grace. Her hair and eyes were 
of a bright black hue, while her complexion was very 
fair. Her cheeks were of a vivid crimson, which seldom 
varied in its intensity of coloring. 

She was dressed in an elaborate morning-costume of 
olive-brown cashmere, and wore a silver-fox fur jacket 
and a jaunty cap of the same material. 

The house-door opened, and a gentleman came 
hurrying toward her. The new-comer was of short 
stature, small of figure, and past middle age. His 
hair was parted in the middle, and he wore whiskers of 
a sandy color, which flowed back over his shoulders. 
He was a withered, insignificant, elderly dandy, but he 
was also Miss Windsor’s maternal uncle — having been 
half-brother of her mother — and the young lady’s 
personal guardian as well. 

This was Mr. Griffin Callender — Lady Marly, the 
grandmother of Miss Windsor, having been twice 
married, her first husband having been the Honorable 
Griffin Callender, and her second spouse having been the 


82 


THE MISTRESS OF CRAGTHOEPE. 


late Earl of Marly. The sole issue of Lady Marly’s 
first marriage had been the gentleman we now introduce 
to the reader. 

‘‘ Sorry not to meet you at breakfast, Octavia,’' he 
said, in a drawling voice, as he neared his ward. “ Have 
the letters come yet ?’' 

No, it is a long, hard ride to Penzance over these 
ugly roads, and the post-bag hasn’t arrived yet,” replied 
Miss Windsor. “ I came out to wait for it. The dull- 
ness of this place begins to oppress me. So you went 
to Hawks’ Cliff last evening? Did you see the earl ?” 

“Yes, and he asked after you with a great deal of 
interest, and even with affection,” said Mr. Callender. 
“ I saw him alone in his library, but he has guests at 
Hawks’ Cliff, whom I did not see.” 

“ Guests ?” 

“ Two young gentlemen, one of whom will inherit his 
property in due course of time,” said Mr. Callender. 
“ They’re kinsmen of his, not very near, of course, but 
blood’s thicker than water, you know. He invited them 
to Hawks’ Cliff, with the intention of making one of 
them his heir.” 

“ Indeed !” said Miss Windsor, interested. “ Who are 
the young men ?” 

“ One is Rollyn Conyers, so the earl called him, son 
of the Desmond who married an heiress named Conyers, 
and changed his name to please her. This Rollyn Con- 
yers will inherit the title ; that can’t be diverted from 
him. The other is a young fellow who is reading law 
in London, a Desmond, poorer than Conyers. His 
name is Noble Desmond. The earl told me all about 
them. It is his ambition that one of them should 
marry you.” 

“ Me !” said Miss Windsor. “What an idea!” 


THE MISTRESS OF CRAGTHORPE. 


83 


It is the earl’s ambition to unite Hawks’ Cliff and 
Cragthorpe,” said Mr. Callender, and it’s a mighty 
pretty idea, Octavia. Think what a vast domain the 
union would make ! You’d be a sort of queen, Octy, and 
live in royal state.” 

‘‘ I can marry whom I please,” said Miss Windsor, toss- 
ing her head. With Cragthorpe as my dower, I might 
marry a duke.” 

Lord Hawkhurst can leave the property to whom 
he pleases,” declared Mr. Callender. “ It is odd, almost 
unparalleled, to find such vast estates unentailed, but 
these can be willed to whomsoever the earl pleases. And 
he may not please to leave them to Conyers, along with 
the title, though I presume he will do so. He would 
naturally leave the property to support the title.” 

‘‘ Of course,” assented Miss Windsor, ‘^Conyers will 
get estates, money and title. The other young man 
wastes his time at Hawks’ Cliff.” 

“ The earl is coming over this morning, with the young 
gentlemen, to call upon you,” said Mr. Callender. 
“Don’t fall in love with Desmond, Octy. And — but 
here comes the post-bag.” 

A servant came riding up the avenue as he spoke. 
Mr. Callender went down the terrace to meet him, and 
returned with the post-bag, which he unlocked with a 
key drawn from his pocket. 

There were several letters for Miss Windsor, with 
Continental post-marks, and there was a single letter for 
Mr. Callender. 

Callender read his in silence, and then sank to a seat 
on the stone balustrade of the terrace, his face ghastly 
pale, his eyes starting, his jaw dropped, his entire coun- 
tenance that of one upon whom a terrible blow has 
fallen. 


84 : 


THE MISTRESS OP CRAGTHORPE. 


What is the matter, Uncle Griffin demanded Miss 
Windsor. ^‘You look absolutely horrified. Is anyone 
ill ? Is any one dead.?** 

Callender aroused himself from his stupor, and with a 
great effort put on a seeming of calmness. 

‘‘ No one is dead,** he said, hoarsely, and that is 
where the trouble is. Octavia, prepare yourself for an 
awful blow. After all, it*s worse for you than me — 
poor girl!** 

‘‘What do you mean ? I don*t understand.** 

•‘ Can you bear the truth, Octy ?’* he asked, huskily. 
“I don*t know how to break it to you. Your — uncle 
Windsor is alive!** 

“ Alive ! Uncle Windsor ! What madness !** 

“ It*s true, Octavia! This letter is from him!** 

“I don*t believe it — I won’t believe it!’* cried Miss 
Windsor, in a gust of passionate defiance. “ It is rank 
imposture. He was lost at sea years ago! I know my 
uncle*s handwriting. Give me that letter!** 

The young lady made a spring forward and snatched 
the letter from her uncle*s hand. Her black eyes 
scanned it in a burning gaze. The letters swam before 
her eyes, yet even in her agitation she recognized the 
peculiar crabbed penmanship that had once been so 
familiar to her. 

“ It — it looks like his handwriting,** she muttered. 
“ But it*s a forgery. It’s dated Canada. He says — 

I can’t read it. Uncle Griffin.** 

The letter dropped from her nerveless hands, and she 
leaned heavily against a tall marble urn, across which a 
few dead vines were trailing. 

Mr. Callender picked up the letter. 

“ It’s all true,” he said, “ and it’s hard for you, Octy 
— for you and for me. They said Tom was on the Tas- 


THE MISTRESS OF CRAGTHORPE. 


85 


manian when she was lost in the Indian Ocean, and it is 
true that he paid his passage in her ; but I always 
thought it just possible that he might have changed his 
mind at the last moment, and stayed behind. And it 
seems that that was the case. He says he has roamed 
the world over, and that only recently he heard of his 
brother’s death. He will return in January, to enter into 
his new possessions, and he adds that you shall have a 
home at Cragthorpe until your marriage. There is a 
postscript, in which he says that if a certain young lady 
whom he knew years ago, has proved faithful to him, he 
will soon bring a new mistress to Cragthorpe.” 

Octavia Windsor’s face flamed with a sudden horror 
and despair. 

Anew mistress — and but now I was mistress here ! ” 
she exclaimed. ‘‘ Oh, this is horrible ! To be set aside 
as the unimportant niece, the dependent, the — oh, uncle 
Griffin ! What shall I do ? I, who hoped to make such 
a grand marriage ! I — It is like a dream !” 

“There’ll be no grand marriage for you now, Octy,” 
said her uncle. “You will marry some poor scion of 
nobility, perhaps, or an army officer, or a government 
clerk, or you’ll live an old maid and nurse your uncle’s 
children, and play the piano at your aunt-in-law’s bril- 
liant parties, and grow crochety and be ill-dressed, 
and — ” 

“ Never ! never !” ejaculated Miss Windsor, furiously, 
her soul stirred to a tempest of anger. “ How dare you 
talk so to me ? I’d rather die. Yet, what am I to do ?” 
she added, her fury giving place to despair. “When 
my uncle returns, I shall have no chance to contract 
a brilliant marriage.” 

“ He’ll not return until January. We will tell no one 
that he lives. I think he will not announce his return 


86 


THE MISTRESS OF CRAGTHORPE. 


to anyone but ourselves. You have six weeks. In those 
six weeks you must secure a rich husband.’' 

“ That’s all very well,” scoffed Miss Windsor, “ but 
where am I to pick up a rich husband on such short 
notice, and how am I to marry him in such haste ?” 

‘‘This Rollyn Conyers will be the next Earl of Hawk- 
hurst,” said Mr. Callender, thoughtfully. “ Marry him. 
You can captivate him if you try. You can be fascinat- 
ing, Octavia, and you are a fine, handsome creature — ” 

“ Bah ! As if I were a prize cow ! As to this Conyers, 
how am I to know that Conyers will inherit Hawks' 
Cliff?” 

“ Oh, Conyers is sure to inherit all that the earl has. 
Lord Hawkhurst told me last night that he should like 
the title and estates to keep together. He said, too, 
that he desired above all things that his old friend 
Windsor’s daughter should be mistress of Hawks’ Cliff. 
Marry Conyers, Octavia, and marry him at once. He is 
sure to be the earl’s heir.” 

“ I think so, too,” said the girl, thoughtfully. “ I will 
marry Conyers, Uncle Griffin, and I’ll make him falJ in 
love with me this very day. But we shall have to make 
a stolen marriage, I fear, else I shall not be able to marry 
him at all before Uncle Windsor returns. I can’t have 
any six months’ engagement, with bridesmaids and a 
costly trousseau and a grand wedding at St. George’s. 
Burn that letter. Uncle Griffin, and forget its contents. 
I will proceed to make my hay while the sun shines. In 
less than one month I shall be Mrs. Rollyn Conyers.” 

Her uncle warmly expressed his approval. 

“You will succeed!” he exclaimed. “You must 
succeed ! I — there’s some one at the lodge gates, 
Octavia. The earl, with his kinsmen 1 Run to vour 


STARWOOD. 


87 


room, and then go down to the drawing-room. I will 
receive our guests.’* 

Miss Windsor flitted away like a shadow, entering the 
house. Mr. Callender tore his crumpled letter into 
minute pieces as he crossed the terrace, ascended the 
steps and entered the drawing-room. He dropped the 
scraps of paper into the glowing grate, and they shriveled 
away in the flame as the footman opened the door, 
announcing the Earl of Hawkhurst, Mr. Conyers and 
Mr. Desmond. 


CHAPTER X. 

STARWOOD. 

Starwood was a roomy old red brick-house, of the 
Tudor style of architecture, with many features to 
redeem it from absolute plainness. 

The estate consisted of one large farm, which was cul- 
tivated by its owner, Mr. William Star, the uncle of 
Beryl, a bachelor, who lived alone with his servants, 
working as hard as they, and was regarded by his 
neighbors as a recluse. He never visited, never received 
guests, was unsocial to moroseness, was rigid, self- 
repressed, and unsmiling — more, in fact, a stone-image 
than a living, breathing human being. 

Upon the day in which Beryl set out from London to 
visit this home of her ancestors, the cold November rain 
was falling in a ceaseless drizzle, the sky was dark and 
lowering, the earth sodden, and an unutterable dreari- 
ness and gloom brooded heavily over the earth. 


88 


STARWOOD. 


In his sitting-room at Starwood, Mr. Star sat at a tall 
old desk, looking over books of accounts. Presently, he 
arose, and looked out for some moments into the dense 
surrounding shubbery, and then his gaze wandered to 
the wide avenue of only a few rods in length which 
connected the house with the public road. The wide 
carriage-gates were open, and a cab was just entering 
his grounds. 

The vehicle drew up at the stone porch. A slender 
young girl, in a blue serge dress, descended, entered 
the porch, and rang the knocker. 

Mr. Star heard the house-door open and close again. 
Then his housekeeper, a withered woman who had lived 
in his father’s family long before his birth, and who 
managed his household for him, knocked at the sitting- 
room door, and immediately entered, with a look of 
keen agitation upon her sallow features. 

‘‘ Mr. Star, if you please, sir,” said the old woman, 
tremulously, a strange excitement brightening her dull 
old eyes, ‘‘there’s a young lady wishes to see you.” 

“Who is she?” demanded Mr. Star. “What’s her 
name ? What does she want here ?” 

“ I don’t know, sir,” said the old woman, replying to 
her master’s latest question. “ I’ll show her in, and she 
can tell you herself.” 

She slipped out hurriedly, as if to avoid further ques- 
tioning, and ushered Beryl into the room. 

The old housekeeper remained outside in the hall in 
close proximity to the key-hole, her sharpened features 
working agitatedly, her eyes and ears attentive to what 
transpired within the sitting-room. 

Beryl’s first movement was to fling back her veil, 
revealing her pale, thin face, crowned with red-bronze 
rings of hair, and lit up by great bronze-brown eyes. 


STARWOOD. 


89 


now full of a strange pleading. Its bright young 
beauty, its sadness and wistful yearning might well 
have moved as stern a soul as that of Mr. Star, but he 
recoiled from Beryl as if she had displayed a Gorgon’s 
head. He recognized her at once, yet could scarcely 
believe in her identity. 

“ Are you Mr. William Star ?” asked Beryl, in her low 
voice, now tremulous, recognizing him also, and scarcely 
knowing what she said. 

‘‘ Who are you, girl ?” demanded the farmer. 

“ I am your niece. Beryl Star.” 

Beryl stood, still with that look of pleading in her 
face. Mr. Star uttered a strange sound, half cry, half 
groan, and his mouth twitched at the corners and his 
dark face grew white. She shrank before the hardness 
of his eyes, the grim sternness that hardened all his 
features. 

“You mistake,” he said, coldly. “I have no niece. 
You have no claims upon me, madam.” 

“ I know I have no claims upon your protection, sir — 
no legal claim — but humanity gives every human being 
a claim upon other human beings. I am not come to 
beg, sir. I shall go away presently as quietly as I have 
come, but first I have a few questions to ask of you, for 
which purpose I have come here from Switerland.” 

“ If you had possessed any womanly delicacy, you 
would not come here after receiving the letter I sent 
you some weeks since.” 

A faint color drifted into the girl’s cheeks. 

“It is because of that letter I am come,” she said, 
“You made statements in it of which I desire 
information.” 

“ If you want to know about the disposition of my 


90 


STAEWOOD. 


money, you can easily be gratified. I have made a will, 
devising my money to a charity.” 

I do not care for your money,” said Beryl, the color 
deepening in her face. ‘‘ My husband is dead.” 

“ Dead ? Dead, did you say ?” 

Yes, he has been dead some weeks,” said Beryl. 

‘‘ Dead ! Impossible ! Why are you not in mourn- 
ing?” exclaimed Mr. Star suspiciously, scanning her 
garments. ‘‘You wear no widow’s cap !” 

“ I can give you proof that he is dead,” stated Beryl, 
producing a couple of newspapers from her pocket. 
“ Here are a Geneva paper and a GalignanV s Messenger 
with accounts of his death. You can read them.” 

Star, grim and unbelieving, began the perusal of the 
statements of Conyer’s death. 

“ The man who lost his life at Monte Rosa was 
named Vane Conroy,” he remarked, laying down the 
papers. “Your husband was named Conyers. How do 
you account for the discrepancy ?” 

“ It was a blunder — a printer’s error — or a simple mis- 
take,” said Beryl. “The name in the paper might have 
been his ; I don’t know. Conyers was not his real 
name. He did not marry me under his real name.” 

Mr. Star uttered an oath that made the girl shudder. 

Fiercely he ejaculated : “You don’t know his name? 
He may have left a legal widow — and you — and you — 
you foul disgrace — you sit there and look up at me 
calmly as if you were not a wretched outcast !” 

“ I am no outcast. I have done no wrong/’ said 
Beryl, her passionate eyes kindling. “ I am innocent 
in the sight of Heaven. I married this man honestly, 
and would have been faithful to him all my days. I 
thought I loved him — I did love him. But he — he was 
calculating and scheming from the first. He fell in 


STARWOOD. 


91 


love with me on the steamer, and wrote me letters, and 
made my acquaintance, and told me he adored me, and 
asked me to marry him ; and all the while he believed 
me to be your heiress, and was counting upon getting 
a fortune through me. He would never have married 
me but that he knew me to be your niece. He was 
selfish and mercenary. Your cruel letter came to us as 
we sat in our garden on the lake of Geneva. He read 
it ; he hurried away in a frightful rage, and I never saw 
him again. As our marriage was possibly illegal, if he 
had lived he might have deserted me a little later. Do 
you think a girl is a statue, without human feeling? If 
you had ever shown any affection for me, if I had had a 
home or friends, if there had been any one on earth to 
care for me, I should not have married as I did. 

“ I have come here to learn about myself — all that 
you know about me. I grew up at the pensionnat know- 
ing that there was some mystery about my parentage ; 
but, until your letter came to me a few weeks ago, I did 
not know what that mystery was. I am a woman now, 
and I have a right to know my history. Who was my 
mother ?*' 

“ My sister, Jenny Star — accursed be her memory !*’ 

“ And — and who was my father ?’' 

I don’t know. If I did. I’d hunt him over the 
world,” said Mr. Star, fiercely, the coldness and rigidity 
of his countenance giving place to a white, still anger 
that was terrible to behold. I will tell you your 
mother’s story. Listen.” 


92 


THE HISTORY OF JENNY STAR. 


CHAPTER XI. 

THE HISTORY OF JENNY STAR. 

** I was the only son of my father, and inherited all 
he had,” said Farmer Star, to our heroine. Beryl. “ I 
had a sister — Jenny — your mother, girl — eight years 
younger than I. She had not your red hair, but hair as 
black as jet, and brown eyes like yours. You have her 
eyes and her complexion and her slender figure. She 
carried herself like a princess, as you do. One would 
have thought she had sprung from a kingly race, she 
was so patrician in all her ways. Our mother died 
when Jenny was thirteen and I was twenty-one. The 
child fretted after the mother, and pined. She was as 
the apple of my eye, was Jenny. I was proud of her, 
and made plans for her, and it was I who persuaded my 
father to send Jenny to a fashionable boarding-school 
for young ladies, after mother’s death. The school was 
at Brighton. Jenny came home at all the holidays, and 
she grew sweeter and prouder and more a lady with 
every half-term, and I made her more than ever my idol. 
She was seventeen when we recalled her, and she came 
home to stay.” 

He sighed heavily, and walked again to the window. 
Beryl was silent until he chose to resume, which he did 
some minutes later. 

Our home proved dull enough for our fine young 
lady,” said Mr. Star, bitterly, staring out of the window, 
his back turned to Beryl. “ She had learned to play, to 


THE HISTORY OF JENNY STAR. 


93 


speak in French and sing in Italian, and her tastes were 
all different from ours. We — father and I — were only 
plain yeomen ; she was a lady. Old Margot, the 
housekeeper then as now, spared her darling all house- 
hold toil. Jenny went singing about the house, painted 
pictures for the walls, played her music, wandered 
through the fields and woods in search of ferns, and 
lived a life as useless as a lily's. As useless ? I think it 
was not useless, for my father and I watched for her 
step, loved her very presence and were wickedly proud 
of her. Ah, but we were cruelly punished !" 

Again he was silent for a little while. Beryl’s gaze 
wandered to the walls. They were cold and gray in 
hue, without a picture to brighten them. Jenny Star's 
paintings had disappeared long ago. 

‘‘Jenny remained at home a year,” said the farmer, 
in his cold voice, “ and then confided to me that the 
dullness here was killing her. She wanted cultivated 
society, life, something congenial to do. We had edu- 
cated our darling beyond our companionship. She 
secured a situation as governess in the family of a titled 
lady — the wife of Sir James Fortescue — through the 
interest of her former teachers, and she wanted to go at 
once. There was no need for her to go out as governess 
— father had money in plenty — but Jenny was willful 
and would go. I took her up to London, to Lady For- 
tescue's house in Portman Square myself, and left her 
there. That was nineteen years ago. During the first 
year of her stay there, she came home once to visit us. 
It was at the end of the year — in fact, in mid-summer. 
She had grown very beautiful, very elegant, and had 
lost nothing of her sweetness and gentleness. At the 
end of the next year, she did not come home, as during * 
the previous year. She wrote that she could not be 


94 


THE HISTORY OF JENNY STAR. 


Spared. That letter came in June, saying that she could 
not come home, and that was the last letter we ever 
received from her.” 

Mr. Star stated the fact without emotion, still in that 
dry, hard voice he had all along employed. 

The summer went. September went, and no letter 
came from Jenny. Early in October, father could bear 
his anxieties no longer, and said I should go up to Lon- 
don and fetch our girl home. I went, for I, too, was 
uneasy, although I felt sure, if she had been ill. Lady 
Fortescue would have notified us. I went to Portman 
Square. I saw Lady Fortescue !” and Mr. Star's voice 
grew hoarser and stronger. ‘‘Jenny had not been in 
Lady Fprtescue’s house for a year and more !” 

He quitted the window, and hurried across the floor, 
his stern features working convulsively. 

“ She had not been there since her visit to us during 
the preceding year ! When she came home to visit us, 
she had resigned her situation, declaring that she could 
no longer teach, as she was needed at home. Oh, Jenny ! 
Jenny ! And for a whole year she had been — where ? 
God alone knows. Lady Fortescue had not the remotest 
suspicion. Jenny had always behaved like a true lady^ 
and had been a loved and honored member of the 
family, companion to Lady Fortescue as well as a gov- 
erness to her ladyship’s children. She had dined with 
the family ; had spent her evenings in the drawing- 
room, where her musical gifts had been appreciated ; 
and had received the usual attentions due a lady from 
the guests of the house. Jenny had had no lovers, so 
far as Lady Fortescue knew, and she was amazed to 
learn of our girl’s year of absence from home, and could 
scarcely believe her in London. I went out of that 
house humbled, broken-hearted,” 


THE HISTORY OF JENNY STAR. 


95 


His voice faltered a little now, becoming strangely 
broken. 

‘‘ I inquired for her at the post-office. Her letters 
had been taken out. I wrote a wild appeal to her, and 
posted it, and then watched at the office, but she did not 
come. A week went by. I must go home soon to my 
father with that terrible mystery. The evening before 
the day I had appointed for my return home, I was walk- 
ing in Regent street, miserable, anxious and torn with 
anguish. A handsome carriage was going slowly 
through the street, with four gentlemen in it. I gave 
them a glance, scarcely seeing them, and walked on. I 
had not gone a dozen steps, when I came upon a woman 
who was staring after the carriage in a wild and eager 
sort of way, with some choked kind of cry on her lips. 
The woman's face was half-turned from me ; she wore 
a long silk gown, that dragged in the dirt, and a gray 
shawl gathered about her shoulders, and a veil was 
caught back from her face by one thin hand. Yet I 
knew her — knew her at once. It was my sister Jenny ! 

“ Yes, it was Jenny ! I sprang to her, calling her 
name. She turned, recognized me with her wild eyes, 
and gave a great shriek, and fell on the pavement at my 
feet in a dead swoon. There was a crowd directly. I 
carried her into a shop and revived her, but she went 
into convulsions as she opened her eyes and beheld me. 
I found a card in her pocket with her name on it, 
‘Jenny Star,' and the address of her lodgings. I got a 
cab and took her to her home. It was a dingy place in 
a poor region. Her landlady was not devoid of 
humanity. We got Jenny in bed and sent for the 
doctor. While we waited his coming the landlady told 
me that Jenny had come to her three months before and 
secured lodgings, that she never had any visitors, that 


96 


THE HISTORY OF JENNY STAR. 


her clothes were all fine and handsome, and that she had 
money. She knew Jenny as ‘ Miss Star,' a governess out 
of a situation, and thought her a lady born and bred, 
and had always treated her with respect. The convul- 
sions continued — the doctor came — and on that night, 
that miserable night, you were born, and poor Jenny 
died ! 

She never lived to take you in her arms, to tell me 
the story of that fatal year — she never pleaded for for- 
giveness, never tried to clear her name. She never 
even spoke my name after she beheld me on the street. 
I sent for my father the next day, and broke the news 
to him as gently as I could. The shock nearly killed 
him. We buried her in one of the great London ceme- 
teries, and put a stone at her grave marked with her 
name, ‘Jenny Star,' and her age, twenty years. We 
found a nurse for the child in the country to the north 
of London. Then we searched our girl's trunks, my 
old father and I. We found silk dresses, lace shawls, 
jewelry of value, a little purse of money, and evidences 
that Jenny supposed herself to be a lawful wife, but no 
clew to the man who had deserted her. If we had but 
found such a clew, I would have followed him the world 
over to avenge our disgrace. My father and I burned 
all the silks and laces and fine linen stuffs, but we kept 
the jewelry, thinking it might some day afford a clew 
to your father. The jewels you had at Vevay had been 
Jenny's in her girlhood. The others I have now in 
yonder desk. Having disposed of you and buried our 
dead, we took measures to hush up the awful secret of 
Jenny's fate, and went back to our desolate home. My 
father died within a month thereafter, of a broken 
heart, leaving all he possessed to me. 

“ I left you for two years with your nurse at the 


CALLENDER SANK TO A SEAT ON THE STONE BALUSTRADE.— /S'ce Page 83. 


C 







I 



THE HISTORY OF JENNY STAR. 


97 


country cottage wher« you both were boarded. I 
named you Beryl, because I knew a woman once of 
that name whom I hated. When you were two years of 
age I took you and your nurse to Vevay. A few years 
later she went back to Ireland, and was married. My 
sister’s fate darkened my life. I never married. I have 
lived a lonely and secluded life, with but one hope — to 
meet some day that man and kill him. 

“ I gave you every chance to become a respectable 
woman, and you know how your blood has asserted 
itself, how you married that scoundrel whose death is 
the only good thing I’ve heard of him, and who had, 
doubtless, a wife living. You’ve no right to the name 
of Connors or Conroy, or whatever his devilish name is ; 
no right to the name of Star ; no right to existence even. 
You are not my niece ; I repudiate all your claims. 
You have no relatives, no friends, no name, no home — ” 

‘‘ No anything,” finished Beryl, with an intense bit- 
terness. ‘‘True. Perhaps after all this bitterness there 
may be something sweet in store for me yet.” 

“ Not here — not at Starwood. As you’ve made your 
bed, so you must lie,” said the farmer, in his grim, hard 
voice. “ You can teach for a living, you can sew or 
dance, for aught I care, but you can’t expect to be sup- 
ported by me.” 

“ I don’t expect it,” flashed Beryl. “ I wouldn’t take 
a penny from you, whatever my need. But I have one 
demand to make of you. Give me the jewels you found 
in my mother’s trunks. They were given her by my 
unknown father, and belong of right to me.” 

The farmer made no objection to this demand, but 
went to his desk and unlocked an inner drawer, from 
which he withdrew a small square box of some delicate 


98 


THE HISTORY OF JENNY STAR. 


inlaid wood. He brought this last to the table, 
unlocked it and pushed up the lid. 

It was a jewel-box, with little trays covered with 
maroon velvet. It contained a set of amethyst jewels, 
a set of rubies and one of diamonds. The diamonds 
were small, but of the first water, and of rare bril- 
liancy. Beryl looked at them all carefully, but the set 
of rubies, by far the most valuable and handsome, 
attracted the closest attention. She took out the tray 
that contained it, and held each article of the set in her 
hands. 

There was a slender, flexible necklace of fine gold in 
small square links, and in each link was set a clear, 
small diamond like a drop of fire. The pendant of the 
necklace was a heart, cut out of a single ruby of the 
true pigeon's-blood color — a quaint East Indian jewel 
of remarkable value and splendor. Upon the ruby 
heart was engraved an odd device, which Beryl did not 
attempt to decipher. 

“ That looks as if it might have been an heir-loom in a 
wealthy family,'' she said. That necklace may be a 
clue to my father." 

With a sudden impulse, she clasped the necklace 
about her neck, hiding the ruby heart under her jacket. 

I will wear it until I find my father," she said, in a 
tone of determination, for I shall find him some day — 
some instinct tells me so." 

Mr. Star sneered. 

Do you think he would own you ?" he asked. “ Do 
you mean to make him support you ?" 

The girl's eyes flashed, but she did not answer. 

You’ll find your mother's purse in the bottom of 
the box," said the farmer. “ There's a hundred pounds 


CONYEES SECURES A CLEAR FIELD. 


99 


in it. I could never use it even to bury her. It belongs 
to you." 

Beryl locked the box, thrust the key in her pocket, 
and arose. 

‘‘ My business is ended here," she said. Good- 
morning, sir." 

‘‘ Have you no friends anywhere to whom you can 
go ?" 

“ None and the girFs thin lips curved in a bitter 
smile. I am all alone in the world. Good-morning." 

And Beryl passed out of the home of her ancestors, 
re-entered the waiting cab, and drove away in the rain. 


CHAPTER XII. 

CONYERS SECURES A CLEAR FIELD. 

Mr. Callender received the Earl of Hawkhurst and his 
young kinsmen with a hearty cordiality that assured 
them that they were welcome, and dispatched a servant 
to inform Miss Windsor of the presence of visitors. 

It was several minutes before that heiress made her 
appearance, but she came sweeping in at last, hand- 
some and selt-possessed, with bright black eyes and car- 
mine cheeks, her black hair in fashionable disarray, and 
a short square fringe of hair drooping over her forehead, 
in English nursery fashion. She had removed her fur 
sacque, and put on a jaunty sleeveless velvet jacket, 
which imparted grace to her costume. 

“ Octavia," said her uncle, advancing to meet her, 


100 


CONYERS SECURES A CLEAR FIELD. 


“ your old friend Lord Hawkhurst has come to see 
you.'* 

He offered his arm to lead her to the distinguished 
chief visitor, but the young lady broke from him in 
impetuosity, and ran to the earl, extending both hands. 

“ My dear Lord Hawkhurst !" she exclaimed, in an 
enthusiastic voice. ** I am glad to meet you, my 
father's dearest friend ; you will be his daughter's 
friend also, will you not, my Lord ?" 

The earl saw only his friend Windsor's handsome 
daughter, with Windsor's own black eyes and red 
cheeks, and he took both her hands in his own, and 
stooping, kissed her cheeks with a tenderness of which 
one would not have deemed him capable. 

** I am your friend, Miss Windsor," he said, with a 
grave kindliness. I wish you would look upon me as 
one of your best and truest friends. Permit me to 
present to you. Miss Windsor, my young kinsmen, Mr. 
Rollyn Conyers and Mr. Noble Desmond." 

Dane Conyers made a low bow. Desmond also 
bowed. 

Miss Windsor greeted both young gentlemen with 
quiet and easy self-possession. She begged her visitors 
to resume their seats, and sat down close beside the 
earl, devoting herself to him with flattering assiduity. 

The visit was prolonged to an hour and more, and 
when the earl and his young kinsmen arose to take 
their leave. Miss Windsor pressed them to visit her 
often. 

“ Cragthorpe is so dull after life at Hombourg and 
Baden-Baden," she sighed. I should like to fill this 
great house with visitors. I am impatient to go to town. 
I expect to take part in society this winter, and antici- 
pate a brilliant season." 


CONYEKS SECURES A CLEAR FIELD. 


101 


** The season is sure to be brilliant if you take part in 
it, Miss Windsor/’ said Conyers. 

The visitors took their leave. 

As they rode out at the lodge gates into the public 
road, Lord Hawkhurst, who was in excellent humor, 
scanned his young companions with a keen glance, and 
demanded : 

Well, Conyers, what did you think of our young 
hostess ?” 

She is a very handsome young lady,” answered Con- 
yers, with enthusiasm. ‘‘ I expected to find an ugly 
young woman, with personal defects enough to counter- 
balance her fortune — that’s generally the way, you 
know, my Lord — and I was surprised to behold that 
fine creature, so self-possessed, so beautiful.” 

Perhaps this enthusiasm of Conyers was worldly. He 
certainly admired Cragthorpe, but he did not especially 
admire its supposed owner. His love for Beryl yet sur- 
vived, and if it had been dead. Miss Windsor’s style of 
beauty was not at all to his taste, and could never have 
touched his heart. But he reasoned within himself that 
he had given his heart full scope once and what had 
resulted ? The maddest marriage he could have made, 
viewed from his present standpoint. Now', that he had 
so cleverly freed himself from Beryl’s claims, he would 
take care to assure his fortune. 

** If the earl doesn’t make me his heir, I can become 
master of Cragthorpe,” he thought. ‘‘The girl was 
taken with me, I could see that. I’ll follow up my advan- 
tage and marry her before she goes up to town and gets 
ambitious for a higher alliance. I know I can win her, 
and I will.” 

He set his lips together in an expression of determina- 
tion. 


102 


CONYERS SECURES A CLEAR FIELD. 


‘‘ Well?*’ said the earl, who was watching him. Do 
you think you can love Miss Windsor ?” 

I love her already.” 

‘‘ You would like to marry her ?” 

“ Yes, my Lord. I am from this moment her suitor.” 

Humph!” said the earl. And you, Desmond ? Did 
you fall in love with the handsome heiress ?” 

Desmond’s lazy face had something in it of scorn for 
the young lady, as he replied : 

“ No, my Lord.” 

‘‘What! Do you not admire her?” 

“ No, sir,” answered the young gentleman, gravely. 
“ I shall not enter myself as a suitor to Miss Windsor’s 
hand.” 

Lord Hawkhurst’s red face flashed yet more redly. 

“You speak cavalierly,” he remarked. “What objec- 
tion have you to the young lady ?” 

“ They are many, sir. I think her insincere, scheming 
— but why should I venture my opinion upon her faults 
and shortcomings ? She can be nothing to me. It is 
enough that she could never touch my heart.” 

“ Oh, bother your heart !” exclaimed the earl, testily. 
“ Confound such priggishness. What do you want ? 
An angel from Heaven 

“ No, sir,” answered Desmond, quietly. “ But I have 
my ideal, and Miss Windsor does not fulfill it. I regard 
marriage as something more than a union of hands and 
lands — as something that effects a man’s entire destiny 
on this earth.” 

“ What nonsense !” ejaculated the earl. “ Are you one 
of those accursed radicals, Desmond ? One of those 
debasing levelers of rank and caste ? It’s well I’ve 
learned your bent of mind. Why, you would make a 


CONYERS SECURES A CLEAR FIELD. . 


103 


Street-beggar mistress of Hawks' Cliff, if you owned it, I 
dare say." 

‘‘ If I found a girl I really loved, my Lord, I would 
make her my wife and the mistress of all my possessions, 
no matter whether she were a beggar or no." 

The earl's face expressed his horror of such a senti- 
ment. 

‘‘ This marrying below one's own rank is the maddest 
folly," he said bitterly. ‘‘ Even the wildest passion can- 
not excuse it. I want no street-beggar to reign at 
Hawks* Cliff, and I advise you, Desmond, to get rid of 
your leveling ideas. They will be your ruin." 

‘‘I am not the radical you think me, sir," said Des- 
mond, smiling. ‘‘And I am not a romantic young man 
bent upon a low marriage. I only meant to say that I 
believe love to be one of the divinest instincts of our 
nature ; that a wife should be in truth the nobler and 
better half of man ; and that if I ever love, I shall not 
stifle the sentiment because its object may be poor or 
low-born. It is what she is in herself, not what relations 
or outward circumstances are, that concerns me." 

“ The rankest nonsense I ever heard," said the earl. 
“ There are no Lord Burleighs nowadays. You are a 
foolish young enthusiast, Desmond ; just the man to 
ruin yourself in a fit of mad folly, and rue it all your 
life after. Rashness and folly and headstrong impetu- 
osity run in the Desmond blood, I think. And so 
because Miss Windsor doesn’t touch your heart, as you 
express it, you coolly relinquish all hope of owning Crag- 
thorpe some day. Very well, young gentleman. I sup- 
pose you know how I have built upon the scheme of 
uniting the two estates ?" 

“ I do know, sir. But I dislike doing violence to my 
own principles, even to secure your favor," said Des- 


104 


COISTYERS gECtJliES A CLEAR FIELD. 


mond, sharply. This whole plan has revolted me 
from the first. I did not like to come here as a com- 
petitor for your favor, as the rival of Conyers, to air my 
best qualities in the hope of becoming your heir.'' 

Then you virtually relinquish all desire and prospect 
of becoming my heir ?’' 

“ I do, sir,” said Desmond. I honor you as a man 
and a gentleman, I respect and esteem you, my Lord, I 
admire your noble qualities, but I refuse to lower my 
manhood to gain any prize whatever !” 

‘^You shall be counted out, then, Mr. Desmond. 
There is henceforth no possibility of your becoming my 
heir. I will not detain you longer at Hawks’ Cliff, sir, 
since your remarkable independence and sense of what 
is due to your ‘ principles ’ may make your stay unpleas- 
ant. No man shall sacrifice his ‘ principles ’ for the 
sake of getting my money.” 

The remainder of the ride home was accomplished in 
silence. As they rode up the long, steep, winding 
avenue that led from the public road to Hawks’ Cliff 
Castle, the earl broke the silence, exclaiming : 

Conyers, a last word with you. Win Miss Windsor 
to be your wife, secure Cragthorpe, and I will make a 
will giving you Hawks’ Cliff and all I own in the world.” 

Conyer’s eyes sparkled. 

You will ?” he exclaimed. You will make me your 
heir, my Lord ?” 

On condition that you secure Cragthorpe to add to 
my estates,” said the earl. “ I have great confidence in 
the instincts of a pure, high-bred girl. Get Octavia 
Windsor to indorse you by marrying you, and I will 
publicly acknowledge you as my heir.” 

“ I will bring Miss Windsor to Hawks’ Cliff before 
Christmas as my bride !” 


NOW OR NEVER. 


105 


I suppose you will want to return to London and 
law, Desmond," said Lord Hawkhurst, with a freezing 
courtesy, addressing his younger kinsman. ‘‘Yet I 
should like you to remain at Hawks* Cliff, to witness 
the home-coming of the future mistress.** 

“ Thanks, my Lord,** said Desmond, “ but I return to 
London immediately. I shall leave the castle within an 
hour.** 

The earl bowed. The three alighted, and entered the 
dwelling, Desmond going to his own room to pack his 
portmanteau, and Conyers, in fine spirits, seeking his 
own chambers. As he opened his door, with the words 
of a song on his lips, Huplick, just arrived from 
Switzerland, arose, and advanced to meet him. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

“now or never.** 

Conyers was not at all surprised at finding his sleek 
valet awaiting him. He had expected his arrival for 
some days with impatience. He recognized his presence 
by a brief nod, and carefully secured the door, and 
advanced to the middle of the spacious chamber before 
he asked : 

“ Well, what news ?’* 

Huplick had, in his letters to his master, told the story 
of BeryFs movements from the time of her desertion to 
her setting out to appeal to the Bassetts. He now 
replied to Conyers's question with : 

“ She found your diary, sir, and read them there 


106 


NOW OR NEVER. 


entries, and I believe she hated and despised you then 
as much as she had loved you before. She gave me 
your clothes, your dressing-bag, and even your money. 
She wouldn't keep a penny of it for herself." 

Conyers face had grown pale ; now it flushed darkly. 

‘*1 always knew she was proud," he scoffed. “I 
wanted her not to mourn after me, and all that, you 
know, but how is she to get along without money ? I 
suppose her future is her own look-out. She’ll go back 
to her old pensionnat and become an under-governess, for 
poverty and loneliness will bring down her pride, or 
she’ll write to her uncle for a small income to support 
her quietly abroad." 

‘‘ Yes, sir," said Huplick, but it’s nearly three weeks 
since I left Switzerland. I didn’t think it best to come 
directly here, lest I should possibly bring suspicion 
upon you at some future time. It isn’t likely that the 
young lady will ever suspect a hoax, or that her uncle 
may scent the truth, but it’s a. good rule to be always 
on guard. So I stopped a week in Paris, another week 
in London and nearly a week with some relations of 
mine in Lincolnshire. I made friends with Madame 
Pinnet, and gave her a present at parting, and she 
promised to write to me at London. I was in London 
the day before yesterday, and found there two letters 
from her. Here they are, sir. In one of them, madame 
says that the young lady is getting well rapidly. In the 
later letter she says that the young lady has left the 
Villa Belvoir for good and all. The young lady went to 
Geneva. Madame Pinnet followed her next day to see 
whither she had gone, and discovered that she was gone 
to Zermatt !’’ 

The deuce ! She must have doubted your story 


NOW OR NEVER. 


107 


then, else she would never have thought of visiting the 
scene of the catastrophe.” 

‘‘It was probably a morbid desire to obtain a realiz- 
ing sense of your death in the place where she supposed 
it had occurred. I can't explain it,” said Huplick, “but 
I am sure that she could have gone to see the spot where 
her husband was said to have perished without at all 
doubting his death. It's fortunate we made all safe, 
Mr. Conyers, and that her belief in your sad fate will 
only be confirmed by a visit to Monte Rosa.” 

“Yes, yes, but I don't like her going,” declared 
Conyers. “ I'd like to know her next move. I wish you 
had remained to watch her a little longer ; not that I 
fear her, a girl barely seventeen years old, and as shy 
and innocent of the world as any convent novice. But 
still—” 

His voice died out in a thoughtful silence. 

“ She’s all right,” said Huplick. “ She thinks your 
name was not Conyers, and has gone back to her old 
girlhood name. She’ll take precious good care not to 
come to England, and her uncle wouldn’t have her here, 
that's clear. You are well rid of her, Mr. Conyers. The 
summer's folly is all ended. And by-and-by, when the 
name of Conyers is lost sight of under the title of Earl 
of Hawkhurst, you’ll be completely hidden, particularly 
as you are known here as Rollyn Conyers, and that’s the 
name that will go into the Peerage Book. Is the other 
young gentleman here yet, sir ?” 

“ Desmond ? Yes, but he leaves to-day. I've bowled 
him out of the game completely. The earl has hinted 
to him that his room is better than his company. More 
than that,” and Conyers's eyes began to gleam, “ the carl 
told me before Desmond, that if I would marry the 
heiress of Cragthorpe, a daughter of Lord Hawkhurst’s 


108 


NOW OR NEVER. 


once most intimate friend, that he would make a will 
constituting me his heir.** 

Can you marry her, sir }** the valet asked. 

“ I can and will,** was the confident response. We 
have just been to call upon her. I saw that she 
regarded me with favor, and I shall follow up the gen- 
eral good impression I made by the most assiduous 
attentions. In marrying her I secure Cragthorpe, and 
the earrs promise is conditional upon my possessing 
Cragthorpe. I should like a grand marriage, but I 
think that will be out of the question. I think she is 
romantic — school-girls mostly are — and I mean to per- 
suade her to a hurried and private marriage, after 
which I will bring my bride to Hawks* Cliff and present 
her to the earl. A remarkably neat programme, you 
see.** 

“Remarkable!** assented the confidential servant. 
“ Is this heiress beautiful ?** 

“ No, not beautiful,’* said Conyers, reluctantly, and 
with a sigh. “ Not like /ler^ of course ; not beautiful at 
all, in fact. She’s got a pair of black eyes of twenty- 
gimlet capacity ; steady, bold, unpleasant eyes, without 
a particle of softness in them. She has cheeks like 
damask roses ; but I never liked milk-maid complexions. 
Her hair is black and straight, and her lips are too 
thick to look well on a white person’s face. Yet she is 
handsome ; a big, bouncing, fine young woman, with a 
heavy tread, a grenadier walk, a lofty air of self-asser- 
tion. She weighs twelve stone. I’ll dare swear, and at 
forty she’ll be fat enough to win admiration in the 
Congo Free State, where they fat women as geese are 
fatted at Strasbourg. Yes, she’ll be a great, puffy, 
overfed, overblown, fat woman ; and I hate fat women!’* 
grumbled Conyers. 


NOW OR NEVER. 


109 


Conyers prolonged the conversation until the lunch- 
eon-bell rang, and it became necessary to descend to 
the breakfast-room. 

At luncheon the earl informed Conyers that he should 
invite Miss Windsor and her uncle to dine with him 
informally that day week. 

The next morning, providing himself with the choicest 
bouquet the conservatories of Hawks* Cliff could 
furnish, Conyers rode down the coast alone to Crag- 
thorpe. He found Miss Windsor at home, and appar- 
ently pleased to see him. He was at his best, gay, 
genial and fascinating ; and the girl felt the force of 
the charms that had won poor Beryl. His flatteries 
were almost fulsome, for he saw that Miss Windsor fed 
upon compliments as some women devour sugar-plums, 
and when he rose to go, the young lady invited him 
cordially to come often — Cragthorpe was so dull. 

He did go often. The next day found him at Crag- 
thorpe, the next and the next. He went every day for 
a week. Mr. Callender invited him to remain to lunch- 
eon upon one occasion, and he did remain. 

The day on which Miss Windsor and Mr. Callender 
were invited to dine at Hawks* Cliff dawned at last. 
Upon the morning of that day. Miss Windsor sat in the 
drawing-room of Cragthorpe, when her uncle joined 
her, a look of annoyance on his face. 

‘‘Another letter from Canada, Octavia,** he said, 
carefully closing the door, and speaking cautiously. 
“ Another letter from your Uncle Windsor.** 

“What does he say. Uncle Griffin ?** 

“ He reiterates his promise to be home in January, 
and urges me to keep his continued existence a secret 
until his appearance at Cragthorpe. He wants to see 
the young lady whom he intends to marry, and 


110 


NOW OR NEVER. 


announce his return to her in person. The letter 
reminds me of the frailty of our tenure here, Octavia. 
One week of our brief grace is gone. It's a week yes- 
terday since we learned that your uncle lives and will 
assert his claim to Cragthorpe ; one week since you 
first saw young Conyers. What progress have you 
made toward winning him V* 

I have virtually won him," said Miss Windsor. 

Has he proposed yet ?" 

Certainly not. He has only known me a week — " 

“ In a week the destinies of all the nations of Europe 
may be changed. He has seen you every day for a 
week. He acts like a lover. Bring him to the point 
this very day, Octavia. I tell you, you have no time to 
lose. Your uncle may return at any time. Or the fact 
that he is not dead may get wind in some way, and 
your prospects will be ruined. Secure Conyers at once. 
Don't try to play your fish with a long line. Land him 
as quickly as possible if you want to be safe. I feel 
nervous and ill at ease, Octavia." 

Miss Windsor shared the feeling. 

I suppose I can bring him to the point to-day. 
Uncle Griffin, "she said; ‘‘but I may not be able to 
manage it. People don't usually propose in such mad 
haste, and he might suspect that something was wrong 
about my ownership of Cragthorpe." 

“ You think that because you know that you are not 
its owner ; but he does not suspect it. Take my 
advice, Octavia, and marry him directly. There is too 
much dependent on this marriage for you to play the 
coquette, and hang back for the usual lengthy courtship 
and engagement. If you can bring him to your feet, 
the sooner you can do it the better. Before your uncle 
can possibly return, you should be installed at Hawks’ 


NOW OR NEVER. 


Ill 


Cliff as Mrs. Rollyn Conyers, the future Countess of 
Hawkhurst."' 

“ I will be !’* said Miss Windsor, determinedly. 

You are right, uncle Griffin. I will bring Conyers to 
the point to-day, and marry him within a week.” 

Accordingly, Miss Windsor drove to Hawkhurst at a 
late hour of the day, in company with Mr. Callender, 
determined to win a proposal of marriage from Conyers 
that very night 

Oddly enough, Conyers, actuated by motives of 
equal purity, was determined to make a proposal of 
marriage to the heiress that very night, and so decide 
his own fortunes. 

The old castle of Hawks* Cliff was all ablaze with 
lights when the Cragthorpe carriage drove into the 
porch, and Miss Windsor and her uncle alighted. The 
earl, in full dinner dress, met them at the foot of the 
marble steps, and gave his arm to Miss Windsor, escort- 
ing her into the house. The lady-housekeeper was in 
waiting to conduct the young lady to a dressing-room, 
and Miss Windsor disappeared with her. 

Dinner was announced at seven oclock, and the earl 
gave his arm to Miss Windsor, and led the way to the 
dining-room, Mr. Callender and Conyers bringing up 
the rear. 

The dining-room was a large, long, handsome room, 
with frescoed walls and ceiling, and with frequent niches 
along the sides of the room, in which full-length marble 
statues were ensconced. There were great circular 
windows, looking into a flower-garden, and one end of 
the room was fitted with glazed sliding-doors that 
opened into a magnificent fernery. 

The oval table glittered with polished crystal, silver 
and gold plate, and painted porcelain of Sevres, all dis- 


112 


NOW OR NEVER. 


played upon napery of exquisite beauty. A tall Ipergnc 
of frosted silver, filled with flowers, occupied the centre 
of the table, rising from a tiny lake formed by a mirror, 
around whose edge water-lilies were gracefully fringed. 
The dinner was as sumptuous as its appurtenances, com- 
prising all the luxuries November can afford from the 
woods, the fields, the streams, and the forcing and hot- 
houses. 

The party, though small, was not dull. Lord Hawk- 
hurst was full of wit and wisdom ; Mr. Callender had 
primed himself with anecdotes and repartee for the 
occasion, and Miss Windsor and Conyers were both 
animated, even to vivacity. 

The dinner over, the earl and Mr. Callender lingered 
over the nuts and wine, but Conyers arose to open the 
door for Miss Windsor, and passed out with her. They 
returned to the drawing-room together. 

“The night is clear ; the moon is shining,’* said Con- 
yers. “ Let us go out upon the cliff and watch the sea 
in the moonlight. Shall we not ?” 

Miss Windsor assented and brought a short cloak of 
white cashmere covered with white silk embroidery and 
edged with swan’s-down. Conyers wrapped it around 
her, gave her his arm, and they left the castle together, 
straying out upon the cliff. 

“ I’ll propose to her this very hour — here — now !” 
thought Conyers, his heart beating loudly. “ I must 
secure Cragthorpe. I can’t afford to dally along in 
this uncertainty. It’s now or never !” 

“ I’ll bring him to the point before I go into the castle 
again,” thought Miss Windsor, hanging on his arm. 
“I must secure a home at Hawks’ Cliff before I lose 
Cragthorpe. It’s now or never !” 


THE NIGHT IS CLEAR, THE MOON IS SHINING.— /S'CC Page 112 







1 1 


I • 


f • 




. 



'4 




f 



I 


%* ^ 





•V 'V,t- ' 

- ’. • ■ 

^ rk * * 

V ^ i • 





I 


I 



« • 


“ • j> 

j • 



«>•* 



I 


< 


V 


I 






K *• 

* L-/ 



■> 


» • 





^ « 



t 



•. 


P 




i 



« • 

«• 


/ 

t 


i 



* 


( 


•• 


t 




« 

» 


* . 

■1 


% 


1 4 


DEVELOPING A TWO-FOLD PURPOSE. 


113 


CHAPTER XIV. 

DEVELOPING A TWO-FOLD PURPOSE. 

As Beryl passed out at the gates of Starwood, enter- 
ing the public road, she pressed her face against the 
wet panes of the window of the fly, and looked back 
upon the inhospitable dwelling which had once been 
her mother’s early home. The old Tudoresque house, 
which was more a mansion than a farm-house, looked 
almost stately to the homeless girl, as it loomed up 
through the mist of rain. What a safe refuge it might 
have been to her ! What a peaceful life she might have 
lived beneath those clustering chimneys and that pic- 
turesque roof ! 

The vehicle began to move more swiftly, and the 
shrubbery intervened, shutting out her view of the 
house. She was about to withdraw her face from the 
window, when she beheld a woman’s figure start out of 
the shrubbery at one side of the road, with both arms 
thrown up in a gesture commanding the flyman to halt. 

He came to a halt at once. 

The woman approached the vehicle. She was bent 
and withered, and wore a dark tweed cloak over her 
head and shoulders. She was old Margot, the house- 
keeper at Starwood, and Beryl recognized her at once, 
and hastened to lower the window. 

'' Did you wish to speak to me ?” asked the girl. 

Yes, miss,” said the old woman, in a low tone, too 
low to reach the ears of the muffled flyman. ** I knew 


114 


DEVELOPING A TWO-FOLD PURPOSE. 


the master would send you away, and I came here to 
wait for you. You have Miss Jenny’s eyes. Poor lamb ! 
I nursed her in her babyhood ; I carried her in my 
bosom ; I watched over her as if I had been her mother 
— my pretty nursling ! And you — I knew it the minute 
I set eyes on you — you are Miss Jenny’s daughter. You 
have her bonny brown eyes. I listened at the door 
when the master told you that sad story. Have you 
friends in England ?” 

I have no friends anywhere.** 

“No friends ? And you so young and beautiful ! I 
have a sister in London who lets lodgings. I’ve written 
her name down on a card for you, and here it is. Go to 
her, miss, and tell her I sent you. She will help you to 
get something to do. I’ll write to her by the post. It’s 
a humble home for the likes of you, miss,” said old Mar- 
got, marking the patrician grace and beauty of the girl, 
“ but it will be a safe one.” 

“ I will go there !” said Beryl, impulsively, touched by 
the old woman’s kindly interest in her, as she took the 
proffered card of address. “ I thank you very much. I 
am a stranger in England, and I never had a home.” 

“ Poor child !” said old Margot. “ Better days will 
come, miss, mark my words. I will come to see you in 
London in a day or two. My darling used to kiss me 
often,” she added, wistfully. “ You look so strangely 
like her — may I kiss your hand ?” 

The tears rushed to Beryl’s eyes. She leaned forward 
and kissed the drawn and wrinkled face of the old 
woman without a word. 

Old Margot gave back the kiss with interest, and 
turned away in silence, and plunged again into the 
shrubbery from which she had emerged. 

It was late in the afternoon when Beryl arrived at 


DEVELOPING A TWO-FOLD PURPOSE. 


115 


London, took a cab to the address given her by old Mar- 
got, and was finally brought to a dingy brick dwelling 
in Arundel street, Strand. The shades were all drawn 
down, and the house would have looked deserted but for 
the light that streamed out through the oblong window 
above the door. The cabman ran up the wet steps and 
sounded the knocker. He then returned, opened the 
cab-door, and Beryl paid him and dismissed him. She 
mounted the steps, as a slatternly maid-servant opened 
the door. 

“Is Mrs. Toploft at home?’' inquired the young lady, 
advancing into the narrow passage that served as 
entrance hall. 

“Yes, miss," was the prompt response. “Step into 
the drawing-room, miss, while I speak to the missus.” 

Beryl passed into the drawing-room, and the servant 
hurried away in quest of her mistress. 

The “drawing-room ” was only a very dull and dingy 
little parlor, but after the wet gloom outside, it looked 
both cheerful and pleasant to Beryl. 

The lodging-house keeper, old Margot’s sister, pres- 
ently made her appearance, in a faded black alpaca 
gown, and wearing a cap with cherry ribbons. 

She was a big, fussy, jolly, slipshod person, with an 
elephantine tread and asthmatic breathing. 

The result of the negotiations of the next few min- 
utes was that Beryl hired the front room on the second 
floor, with attendance, at a moderate weekly sum, and 
took possession, paying a week’s rent in advance. 

Mrs. Toploft came up to see her after supper, and 
remained an hour. After she had departed. Beryl took 
possession of an easy-chair by the fire, and gave herself 
up to deep and earnest thought. 

“ I am in England — in London — where my mother 


116 


THE BEGINNING OF A NEW LIFE. 


lived out that year of mystery, and died so terribly — in 
London, where I was born. I wonder if my father is in 
London. I wonder if he lives. I dedicate my existence, 
here and now, to the task of clearing my mother’s 
name, of finding my father, and of discovering the true 
name and history of my dead husband, Dane Conyers. 
This double task will give me work, will fill up my 
lonely life, and to this double task I solemnly devote 
myself, and may God help me V* 


CHAPTER XV. 

THE BEGINNING OF A NEW LIFE. 

Beryl told but little of her own story to Margot, who 
came to London the next day to see her. Her wounds 
were yet unhealed, and she could not bare them to 
curious eyes. She stated that she had been married in 
September, and that in October her husband had met 
his death by an accident in the Swiss Alps ; but she did 
not mention the name of her husband, and there was a 
delicate reserve in her manner which, while it was not 
haughty, or even marked, yet deterred old Margot from 
making any close inquiries. The housekeeper longed 
to ask her why she did not bear her husband’s name, yet 
she dared not. 

“I must go to work, Margot,” Beryl stated. “You 
know the world better than I do. Advise me what to 
do. Teaching as a resident governess in a family or 
school is out of the question. But I might possibly 


THE BEGINNING OF A NEW LIFE. 


117 


procure day-pupils. Would it not be best to adver- 
tise V* 

“ My sister used to be housekeeper in a wealthy 
tradesman’s family in Brunswick Square. They were a 
good sort of people,” said old Margot, but the lady 
was a regular screw, used to beat down prices like a 
huckster woman, and was always buying an inferior 
article because it was cheaper, while she kept up a brave 
outside show. This Mrs. Ryan came to see my sister a 
week ago, and mentioned that she had just discharged 
her children’s daily governess, and that she was seeking 
another. Possibly, if you gave your services very 
cheaply, you might get that situation, Miss Beryl, but it 
may be already taken. And if it were not, she might 
object to you because of the mystery about you. My 
sister will go to see her this very day, and try to pro- 
cure the situation for you, if you desire her to do so.” 

I shall be very grateful,” said Beryl. I should 
prefer such a situation at any salary, however low, 
because I am competent to teach, and I know nothing 
of any of the trades. But if I cannot become a teacher, 
I will be a shopwoman, or a milliner, or a flower-maker 
— anything that I can readily learn and by which I can 
support myself.” 

Old Margot interested her sister in the young lodger, 
without unfolding much of Beryl's story, and Mrs. Top- 
loft promised to assist the young girl to the best of her 
ability in her — Beryl’s — efforts to earn her living. 

The next morning Mrs. Toploft visited her former 
mistress, and found that the vacant situation of daily 
governess was not yet filled. She recommended Beryl 
so highly that Mrs. Ryan consented to see the girl, and 
that very afternoon Beryl went to Brunswick square. 

She had dressed herself in a walking-suit of black 


118 


THE BEGINNINO OE A NEW LIFE. 


silk, but her slender figure, her upright carriage, her 
lovely face, her high-bred manner, all combined to give 
her a distinguished appearance which no simplicity of 
costume could mar. 

She alighted at the house of Mrs. Ryan, and bade the 
cabman wait for her. A servant in livery gave her 
admittance into the dwelling, and ushered her into a 
reception-room, taking her card to his mistress. 

There was no appearance of meanness in the propor- 
tions of the rooms, or in the manner in which they were 
furnished. There was an air of comfort, and even lux- 
ury, in the show rooms of this house, notwithstanding 
that the fire was meagre and gave forth an insufficient 
amount of heat for the chilly November weather. 

Beryl had ample time to become fully acquainted with 
her surroundings before Mrs. Ryan made her appear- 
ance. She was growing impatient at last, when the 
rustle of silken drapery was heard in the hall, heralding 
the entrance of the city merchant’s wife. She rose up 
as the lady came in, greeting her with a low bow. 

“ Miss Star, I believe V* said Mrs. Ryan, referring to 
the card which she held in her hand. ‘‘ You are the 
young person Toploft came to see me about this morn- 
ing? Ah, yes. Be seated. Miss Star.** 

Beryl resumed her seat. 

Mrs. Ryan sank indolently into an easy chair. 

Toploft tells me,** said Mrs. Ryan in an affected, 
stilted voice, meant to impress Beryl with a sense of the 
lady’s importance, that you are desirous of obtaining a 
situation as a daily governess. I have but lately dis- 
charged the young person who acted in that capacity in 
my house, and have not yet supplied myself with a per- 
son to succeed her. I don’t know what the world is 
coming to. I’m sure. Young women must ape their 


THE BEGINNING OF A NEW LIFE. 


119 


superiors in dress nowadays, and consequently exact 
larger salaries than they can possibly earn. I would 
send my children to boarding-school, only the charges 
for six would be positively frightful, and, besides, their 
father dotes upon them and cannot bear to send them 
away from home. I don’t like a governess in the house, 
as I have a children’s maid, and a governess’s board 
amounts to no small sum at the end of a year. It is 
worth a guinea a week, at the very least, my house- 
keeper says, although the governess would dine here 
with the children in the school-room. Toploft says you 
have never taught, and that you were educated in Swit- 
zerland. I suppose you speak French with the true 
Parisian accent ?” 

‘‘ Yes, madam. We had a Parisian lady for our 
instructress in French.” 

I always insist upon the Parisian accent,” said Mrs. 
Ryan. Of course, you speak German and Italian ? 
They are indispensable.” 

I speak both,” said Beryl. No expense was 
spared upon my education, madam, and I was fond of 
study. I am competent to teach English, also, and 
drawing and music and painting.” 

“ Oh, English doesn’t matter,” said Mrs. Ryan, some- 
what contemptuously. Any one can teach English. 
I don’t pay my money for that, I assure you. I have 
two boys at school ; you will have nothing to do with 
them. My six girls will be under your charge, if I con- 
clude to engage you. The youngest girl is six years of 
age ; the oldest, fifteen. My boys are older. You are 
very young ; you don’t look as old as my Thusa, my. 
oldest girl. Toploft said you had no friends in Eng- 
land, and that you are inexperienced in teaching, so 
that you can refer to no one in regard to your ability to 


120 


THE BEGINNING OF A NEW LIFE. 


teach. She says that you come of a very good 
Surrey family, and I can take her word for that. 
Toploft is a very worthy, reliable creature, and I don't 
know but that I am willing to engage you upon her 
recommendation. What salary should you expect ?" 

I do not know what my services would be worth, 
Mrs. Ryan. I would prefer that you should pay me 
what you think right," said Beryl. 

‘‘Very well. You would have to come at eight 
o’clock in the morning, and remain until twelve," said 
Mrs. Ryan, in a calculating voice, “ and return at one 
and stay until six ; that is nine hours a day. And Sat- 
urday afternoon would be a half-holiday. My children 
would require instruction in all the branches you have 
named. For faithful teaching, giving the time and 
instruction I have named, reserving Saturday afternoon 
and Sundays to yourself, I am willing to pay a guinea a 
week." ^ 

Beryl’s heart sank. Her lodging in Arundel street, 
with attendance, cost her sixteen shillings a week. 
Could she pay omnibus fares to Brunswick Square, or 
the point nearest to it to which an omnibus would bring 
her, buy boots, clothing, books, to say nothing of food, 
out of five shillings a week ? The feat would be 
impossible. 

She was inclined to resent the proposal and refuse 
it in the same breath, but a wise impulse restrained 
her. She knew that Mrs. Ryan was trading upon the 
facts of her youth, her inexperience and her lack of 
desirable recommendations. Why should she not 
accept these miserly terms and acquire experience ? 
She had money remaining from the sale of her mother’s 
jewels at Geneva, and could manage by a close 
economy, to maintain existence for some months, with 


THE BEGINNING OF A NEW LIFE. 


121 


the aid of the guinea per week which Mrs. Ryan 
would be willing to pay her ; and after a year’s faith- 
ful service she could get a better place, and be per- 
mitted to refer to Mrs. Ryan as her former patron. 
If she refused this paltry remuneration she might 
seek for a place for a long time in vain. Mrs. Top- 
loft had said that there were more people in London 
seeking places than there were places wanting people. 

Mrs. Ryan watched all the changes in the girl’s face 
with hidden eagerness, but she was certain what would 
be Beryl’s decision, even before the girl said : 

** I will accept the terms you offer, madam, although 
they are miserably inadequate to my support, and 
although I shall not have time to form other engage- 
ments and thus add to my income. I will take the situ- 
ation and do my best to please you and to improve my 
pupils. Do you wish to test my proficiency in French 
or German or Italian ?” 

Mrs. Ryan looked at the girl sharply, suspecting her 
of satire, but Beryl was in simple earnest, and the lady 
declined to test her knowledge of the languages 
mentioned. 

** I can trust Toploft, ” she said. ‘‘ Toploft eulogized 
you and your acquirements and told me a great deal 
about you. There is some mystery connected with you 
but Toploft assured me that you were of good birth and 
respectable, and that you were fresh from school, and I 
shall not seek to pry into your private affairs. You may 
come next Monday morning at eight o’clock to begin 
your new duties, and I shall pay you one guinea every 
Saturday noon. Is this satisfactory ?” 

Beryl gave assent. Mrs. Ryan proceeded to make a 
few further inquiries, but Mrs. Toploft had recom- 
mended Beryl so highly that the lady had no anxieties 


122 


THE BEGINNING OF A NEW LIFE. 


in regard to the young girl’s capabilities or respecta- 
bility, and the result of the negotiation was that Beryl 
left the house a little later under engagement to act as 
daily governess to the young Ryans at a price that 
would hardly suffice to keep soul and body together. 

In conversation with Mrs. Toploft later in the day, 
Beryl was advised to learn embroidery, in order that 
she might sell fancy-work at some of the bazaars, and 
that would give her work for the long evenings. 

The suggestion struck Beryl favorably. She resolved 
to take lessons in silk-embroidery. To find an instruc- 
tress was not difficult, and the next day she was taking 
lessons of a faded and reduced old gentle-woman who 
had lodgings at the West End, and who was recom- 
mended to her by Mrs. Toploft. 

Upon the following Monday, Beryl began her duties 
as a daily governess in the Ryan household in Brunswick 
Square. She found the Ryan children spoilt, froward, 
impertinent and rebellious, and her hot temper rose 
many times upon that unpleasant first day, and during 
the days that followed. 

She proved a diligent instructress, patient, earnest, 
anxious that her pupils should improve ; and Mrs. Ryan, 
who was present during the first few days nearly all the 
time, congratulated herself anew on obtaining such a 
model governess at such a merely nominal salary. 

While Beryl thus instructed others, she continued to 
take lessons in embroidery in the evening, and made 
rapid progress in the art. As her expenses considerably 
exceeded her income, she put herself upon Spartan fare. 
In the morning she sometimes rode to the neighborhood 
of Brunswick Square in an omnibus, but at night she 
invariably walked home, whatever the state of the 
weather. 


DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 


123 


It was a hard and bitter life, but Beryl lived it cheer- 
fully and without repining. And while she thus strug- 
gled and toiled, and thought of her young husband as 
dead, he, exulting in the deceit he had practiced upon 
her, and believing her still in Switzerland, was at Hawks* 
Cliff Castle, making love to another woman, his path 
seeming strewn with roses. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND ! 

Although he had made up his mind to urge his suit 
with Miss Windsor without further delay, Dane Conyers 
would not be too precipitate. He had known the young 
lady but a week, and he feared lest she should rebuke 
his presumption, or refuse him altogether. The heiress 
of Cragthorpe might expect to win a titled husband ; 
he knew her nature to be full of ambition ; would she 
be likely to look kindly upon him whose title and possi- 
ble fortune lay in the dim future ? 

“ It’s a lovely moonlight,” he said, resolving to work 
around to his object cautiously. “ How glorious the 
sea looks in the pale flood !” 

“Yes,” said Miss Windsor, absently ; “it does look 
pretty.” 

“ I adore moonlight,** continued Dane Conyers, rack- 
ing his brain vainly for some brilliant idea. “Would 
you like to go out in a boat ? I see a little sail-boat 
below the cliff." 


124 


DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 


I don’t care to sail to-night ; it is too chilly.” 

Ah, yes ; forgive me. I should have thought of 
that. How lovely Hawks’ Cliff is by moonlight ! It 
is a grand old place, Miss Windsor. The park is two 
hundred years old, I have heard. I hope the earl may 
live many years to enjoy it. I regret to hear that he 
has heart-disease, and that he holds his life by such 
uncertain tenure.” 

Conyers was lying for a purpose. The earl had not 
heart-disease, and he knew it. But Miss Windsor 
believed him, and his eligibility was increased a hun- 
dred fold in her estimation thereby. 

‘‘ Poor Lord Hawkhurst !” she sighed. I love him 
dearly. It is sad to think that a blight lurks in the 
heart of a flower so fair.” 

Conyers could have laughed had he not been so 
anxious. The comparison of the fierce-tempered, red- 
haired, fiery-souled earl to a flower was keenly ridicu- 
lous. But he could not afford to laugh at the heiress of 
Cragthorpe. 

I love him, too,” he said, hypocritically ; and I am 
sure that he regards me as a dear son. You know that 
the title will come to me in any case. Lord Hawkhurst 
sent Desmond away to his plodding again, and has 
made his will constituting me his heir. I shall have all 
the great Hawkhurst property when Lord Hawkhurst 
dies.” 

Miss Windsor felt sure that she must secure Conyers 
at all hazards and immediately. Her voice trembled, 
as she said : 

“ I am glad that the earl decided to allow his property 
to support the title. It is the proper way, you know. 
I never liked Desmond, and I am delighted to have you 


DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 


125 


for a neighbor. I hope you will marry some one whom 
I shall like,” and she strove to speak archly. 

I hope I shall. I am in love now, Miss Windsor, 
and the lady of my choice would grace a dukedom.” 

Indeed !” said the young lady, acidly. ‘‘Then you 
are engaged to be married ?” 

“ No, I am not engaged. I have known the lady but 
a short time,” ventured Conyers. “I dare not tell her 
yet what impression her charms have made upon me. 
I am timid in her presence. Propriety exacts a longer 
time between the first meeting and the proposal of mar- 
riage, and yet I love her so wildly, that I can scarcely 
obey the dictates of prudence , and wait longer before 
declaring myself.” 

Miss Windsor’s heart gave an exultant leap. 

“There’s an old Scotch saying that ‘ Happy’s the woo- 
ing that is not long a-doing,’ ” she observed, encourag- 
ingly. “ There are natures that are not ruled by all the 
dull old forms — that dare be warm and quick. Perhaps 
the lady you love has such a nature. I have. If you 
have noc known her long, it may be that your love for 
her has kindled an answering spark in her soul. I 
should advise you not to wait, but to tell her the truth. 
Depend upon it, a woman always likes to be told that 
she is loved.” 

She smiled archly, and clung to his arm yet more 
closely. 

“ Your words almost tempt me to dare,” said Conyers, 
trembling. “ Miss Windsor — Octavia — can you have 
guessed the truth ? Oh, no, it is impossible !” 

“Why impossible?” asked Miss Windsor, in a whis- 
per. “ Is it — is it — ” 

She appeared to pause in maidenly embarrassment. 


126 


DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 


Conyers needed little more encouragement. He came 
to the point at once. 

‘‘It is you !’* he exclaimed. “Octavia, dearest, it is 
you whom I love. Since the hour I first beheld you, I 
have been determined to call you mine. I am the earl's 
heir ; I shall be the next Lord Hawkhurst. The earl 
loves you for your father’s sake, and desires our mar- 
riage. He wants to see you mistress of Hawks’ Cliff. 
Octavia, I lay my heart at your feet. Will you marry 
me ?” 

Miss Windsor was obliged to repress her exultation 
before she could speak. 

“ Yes,” she whispered at last. “ Oh, Rollyn ! I have 
loved you all the while.” 

' He put his arm around her and kissed her. Her head 
drooped to his shoulder. And then, as if in mockery of 
this scene, came back to him the memory of Beryl, and 
the moment when she had consented to marry him. He 
loved Beryl even now, and a fierce pang rent his heart, 
as he wished in his soul that Beryl could have been well- 
born and an heiress. He had no regret even now for 
ridding himself of his young wife, who believed him 
dead ; he was not a man to feel regrets ; but he felt a 
loathing for Octavia Windsor and a bitter revolt against 
his fate, and the curses that filled his soul were not the 
less bitter that he dare not utter them. 

“ Dearest !” he whispered, with lying lips, “ how happy 
I am ! This, indeed, is the happiest moment of my 
life.” 

“ And of mine, too,” said Miss Windsor, truthfully 
enough, although she had no love for her suitor. 

“ How pleased Lord Hawkhurst will be ! We must 
declare our engagement at once.” 

“ I don’t mind letting the earl and uncle Griffin 


DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 


127 


know/' said Miss Windsor, determined, since she had 
succeeded so far, to bring about an immediate mar- 
riage, but I don’t want our engagement generally 
known. You must not tell any one else, Rollyn." 

** But why not, Octavia ?” 

Because — because I am going to spend the season 
in town, and I mean to be a belle, and have a crowd of 
admirers, that is why," said Miss Windsor with an arti- 
ficial little laugh. 

Conyers experienced a thrill of alarm. 

‘‘ You shall have your season in town and be a belle," 
he said ; “ but why not also appear as a bride ? Octavia, 
I hate long engagements. My nature is one of impa- 
tience. Marry me now, dearest, within a month. I 
must secure you before a throng of suitors surrounds 
you. I am impatient to marry you. I am afraid some- 
thing may happen to part us. If you love me, consent 
to an immediate marriage." 

** But what would Lord Hawkhurst think of such 
haste." 

He would not know of our marriage until I should 
bring you to Hawks' Cliff as my wife. And then he 
would laugh at our lovers' ardor, and give us his bless- 
ing. I know he would be pleased." 

Conyers urged his cause with all the eloquence he 
could command. Miss Windsor permitted him to exhaust 
his stock of persuasions and entreaties ; but being as 
anxious to secure Hawks' Cliff as he was to secure Crag- 
thorpe, she finally yielded a gracious assent. 

Conyers was nearly overcome with rapture. 

“ I shall go to Penzance to-morrow and procure a 
special license," he said. “ And the next morning I 
shall call upon you at Cragthorpe, and we will ride 


128 


DlAMOKD cut DIAMOND. 


together to Penzance, and be married. Is this our 
programme, dearest ?*' 

‘‘Yes. I wish I dare tell uncle Griffin ; but he thinks 
that I ought to marry a duke at the very least,"' said the 
young lady, artfully. “No, it’s out of the question — 
telling uncle, I mean,” and she sighed. 

“Yes, it is out of the question, but my valet Huplick 
shall be present as a witness, and you can have your 
own maid with you, if you choose to send her on to 
Penzance in advance, ostensibly on some errand,” urged 
Conyers. “ Will you consent to this, Octavia ?” 

He waited in breathless suspense for her reply. 

“ Yes,” she whispered, with seeming timidity. “The 
day after to-morrow, you say. It is very soon, Rollyn. 
I should like to have time to order a magnificent 
trousseau from Paris, but I suppose I must give that 
up.” 

“ You can order your trousseau all the same, Octavia ; 
you can write to-morrow, and th.e trousseau will arrive 
about the time we go up to town. That will be as well. 
And until the things arrive, we will stay at Cragthorpe 
and at Hawks" Cliff, enjoying our honeymoon.’" 

Conyers's argument appeared to convince Miss 
Windsor. She yielded assent to all his wishes. 

“ Let us go in now,” said the young man. “ I want 
to declare our engagement to the earl.” 

He drew her arm in his, and they returned to the 
drawing-room. 

They found Lord Hawkhurst and Mr. Callender 
waiting for them. Conyers led the girl forward to the 
earl, and said, with unmistakable triumph : 

“ My Lord, you will see that I have followed the 
promptings of my heart and your own expressed wishes. 
Permit me to present to you my promised wife.” 


Conyers’s villainy prospers. 


129 


The earl looked his amazement. 

“This is quick work/’ he said, smiling. “ I am very 
much pleased, Octavia ; very much pleased, Rollyn. I 
hope you two will be happy. I am glad that the 
daughter of my old friend will be the mistress of Hawks’ 
Cliff when I am gone.” 

He kissed Miss Windsor very gracefully, and con- 
gratulated Conyers with a genuine delight. 

Mr. Callender offered his congratulations. 

It was twelve o’clock when the Cragthorpe carriage 
was ordered and Conyers escorted Miss Windsor down 
the steps. He put her into the carriage carefully, tuck- 
ing the rugs about her, and exacting a last salute. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

Conyers’s villainy prospers. 

Having won the consent of Miss Windsor to an 
immediate and private marriage, Dane Conyers per- 
mitted no scruples of conscience, no sense of honor, no 
fear of God or man, to stand in the way of the accom- 
plishment of his villainous schemes. 

He kept his valet with him until a late hour, consult- 
ing with him about his plans in the most confidential 
manner, but at last dismissed him. Then for hours Con- 
yers paced his room, the prey of strangely conflicting 
emotions. His exultation in his successful second woo- 
ing, in his grand prospects, in the favor of the rich old 
earl, in his well-grounded expectaion of succeeding to the 


130 


CONYEKS’S VILLAINY PROSPERS. 


Hawkhurst estates, varied strangely with spasms of 
remorse for his base abandonment of his wife. 

He thought of her glorious beauty, her innocent faith 
and trust in him, her sweetness, her spirit, her pride, the 
purity and strength of her nature, and compared her in 
his own mind with the scheming, selfish heiress, and a 
groan burst from his lips, and he quickened his steps to 
an impetuous speed. 

Why are things never as we want them ?” he mut- 
tered. “ Poor Beryl ! If she had only had birth and 
fortune ! After all that has passed — notwithstanding 
that her beauty has nearly lured me to my ruin — I love 
her still. I love her ! And I hate Miss Windsor. 
What a grotesque mockery it all is !” 

Throughout the remainder of the night he continued 
to pace the floor, or to crouch before his dying fire 
remorseful yet exultant, blaming his untoward destiny 
for his own evil acts, yet inflexibly determined to secure 
the fortune he believed to be almost within his grasp. 
After breakfast the next morning, he set out ostensibly 
to visit Cragthorpe, Lord Hawkhurst watching his 
departure with a well-pleased smile. 

‘‘I like Desmond,” thought the earl, “but it is a 
proof of Conyers’s superiority that the heart of that 
pure, innocent girl was given to Conyers at once. She 
did not hesitate between them. She has her father’s 
straightforward, truthful nature, and will be a fitting 
mistress for Hawks’ Cliff. She will be as a daughter to 
me. 

Conyers did not proceed immediately to Cragthorpe, 
but rode swiftly to Penzance, and proceeded to obtain 
his necessary marriage license. After a delay of some 
two hours, he was successful, and with the document in 
his pocket rode to Cragthorpe, in excellent spirits. 


Conyers’s villainy prospers. 


131 


He found Miss Windsor in her drawing-room, with a 
look of anxiety on her face. She had been watching at 
a window for his coming, and sprang forward to meet 
him with an unlooked-for eagerness. 

She was dressed in white, despite the November 
weather, her gown trailing over the rich carpet. She 
wore a sash of wide scarlet ribbon, a knot of scarlet at 
her throat, and red carved corals in her ears. Her 
black hair was gathered high upon her head in a fash- 
ionable dishevelment, and a short, crimped fringe of hair 
fell half way down her forehead. Her black eyes were 
shining, her face was flushed and eager. She was cer- 
tainly handsome, but it was a hard, cold sort of beauty, 
which would degenerate into coarseness and boldness as 
she grew older, and Conyers recognized that fact even 
as he bestowed upon her a very lover-like greeting. 

“ Have you been to Penzance ?” asked Miss Windsor, 
trying to speak carelessly, yet seeming but the more 
anxious. 

“I am just come from there," was the response, as 
Conyers seated himself upon a sofa and drew the girl 
down beside him. “ I have got the marriage license, 
Octavia. Surely you don’t mean to withdraw from your 
agreement, do you ?" 

“ I ? Oh, no," said Miss Windsor, with an uneasy 
laugh. “ I did not know but you — I mean I was afraid 
that something might happen to prevent our marriage. 
I've been writing letters all the morning, Rollyn. I have 
written to Worth and Pingat for the most elegant 
trousseau that can be invented. I mean to have every- 
thing that money can buy. I shall make hay while my 
sun shines." 

I don’t understand. You speak as if something 
might happen to curtail your income in the future," said 


132 


Conyers’s villainy prospers. 


Conyers. “ My dear Octavia, you will retain full con- 
trol over your own property after our marriage, and 
your slightest caprice shall be gratified.” 

‘‘ You are very good, Rollyn. I am going to buy the 
most superb jewels. I shall have some sent from 
London for my inspection ; and I shall secure some 
India shawls and laces. You look as though you 
wondered at me. My mind is running upon finery this 
morning, I think. Now, how is the marriage to be 
managed ?” 

I shall come to Cragthorpe to-morrow morning, as 
we planned, and we will go out ostensibly for a ride. 
We will go to Penzance and be married.” 

‘‘ But I can’t be married in a riding-habit. I’ve 
thought of a charming plan. I will send my maid to- 
night — she is in my confidence — to Penzance, to the 
house of my dressmaker, with a box of clothing, which 
can be supposed to be sent for necessary alterations. In 
the morning, I will go directly to my dressmaker’s, put 
on a suitable garb, and drive to church in a cab. You 
will be there to meet me, and all will go well.’* 

Conyers remained at Cragthorpe several hours. Mr. 
Callender made his appearance during the afternoon, 
but seemed totally unconscious of the maneuvering of 
the young couple, and treated Conyers with marked 
consideration. 

The young man took his leave at last, and returned to 
Hawks’ Cliff in time to dress for dinner. He was 
particularly attentive to the earl throughout that even- 
ing, and won greatly upon Lord Hawkhurst. The next 
morning, after breakfast, he excused himself, and set 
out again for Cragthorpe. 

He found Miss Windsor, attired in a long blue riding- 
habit, high silk hat and blue veil, awaiting him. She 


Conyers’s villainy prospers. 


133 


was twirling a jeweled whip in her gauntleted hands, and 
was already impatient and ill at ease. She secretly 
feared lest something would happen even yet to prevent 
her marriage. 

‘‘Let me order your horse immediately, Octavia," 
said Conyers, touching the bell-pull. “ VVe have a long 
ride before us. Is your uncle at home?’^ 

“No, he went out a few minutes ago, saying he had 
business at Penzance. Oh, I hope we won’t meet him !” 
said Miss Windsor. “ I do hope he won’t find us out in 
time to prevent our marriage. Do you know, Rollyn, 
uncle thinks I ought to marry a duke ? The income of 
Cragthorpe is twenty thousand a year.” 

Conyers’s face flushed. With twenty thousand a year 
of clear income he could live as he desired. He ordered 
Miss Windsor’s horse with the air of a prince, and treated 
her with an actual tenderness as he led her out to the 
porch and assisted her to mount. They conversed little 
during the ride, and each drew a sigh of relief when they 
finally entered Penzance and took their way through the 
more quiet streets to the residence of Miss Windsor’s 
dressmaker. 

They parted here, the young lady entering the house. 
Conyers rode to a hotel and there left his horses. He 
procured a carriage and sent it to the temporary halting- 
place of Miss Windsor, and then proceeded to the church 
that had been agreed upon as the scene of the intended 
marriage. 

The church was open, the pew-opener being busy 
within. Conyers hastened to the clergyman’s dwelling, 
explained his errand, and by half-past eleven o’clock, 
the clergyman, his clerk, the sexton and one or two others 
were assembled in the dim old edifice, and waiting for 
the bride. 


134 


Conyers’s villainy prospers. 


There was a witness present whom Conyers did not 
see. Mr. Callender occupied a corner in the shadow of 
a column, and remained silent and watchful. 

At a quarter before twelve, a carriage rolled up to the 
church-door, and Miss Windsor, closely attended by her 
maid, alighted. Conyers was at the door watching for 
her, and gave her his arm and led her down the long 
aisle toward the altar. 

A second carriage followed close upon the first, and 
the dressmaker, with one of her assistants, a showy- 
looking French woman, also entered the church. 

Miss Windsor was in bridal array. A long, white silk 
gown, which she had had made in Paris for party use, 
served admirably as her wedding-dress, her modiste 
having added trimmings of point lace and orange- 
blossoms. She wore the usual wreath, and a long, fleecy 
white veil that fell about her like an enveloping mist. 

The bitter mockery was over, and Beryl’s husband 
was married to another woman. 

The bridal couple passed into the vestry and signed 
the marriage-register. Conyers pressed a liberal fee 
into the clergyman’s hand. Huplick slipped out of the 
church to summon a cab for the lady’s maid, which 
should convey her back to Cragthorpe. The modiste 
and the remaining witnesses remained modestly aloof, 
for the bride was not a person to permit familiarity from 
any of them, even while she made use of them to carry 
out her own purposes. 

Octavia, flushed and smiling, stood alone, buttoning 
on her long, white glove, and Conyers was in the act of 
approaching her after his aside with the clergyman, 
when a little stir occurred at the door of the vestry, and 
the uncle of the bride, Mr. Griffin Callender, entered the 
room. 


Conyers’s villainy prospers. 


135 


The modiste stifled a little shriek of dismay ; the lady’s 
maid trembled ; the clergyman looked surprised ; Con- 
yers placed himself at Octavia’s side, and smiled with 
careless defiance at the intruder ; while Octavia herself, 
not in the least startled or surprised, greeted her rela- 
tive with an easy little nod. 

Mr. Callender did not appear in the character of the 
angry guardian. He looked complacent, satisfied and 
well pleased with the situation of affairs. He stroked 
his long, sandy. Dundreary whiskers as he advanced 
smiling. 

‘‘So you've stolen a march upon me ?” he said, easily. 
“Well, young people will be young people. I know 
what young blood is myself. I have come to say ‘ Bless 
you, my children !' in the most approved stage manner. 
Octavia — my dear Mrs. Conyers — permit me to wish 
you happiness. Conyers, I congratulate you." 

Mr. Callender kissed the bride, and held out his hand 
to the bridegroom, who clasped it in wondering surprise. 

“ How did you get wind of this T asked Conyers. 
“ When did you arrive?" 

“ I witnessed your marriage. I was ensconced in one 
of the pews," said Mr. Callender, jocularly. “ I hap- 
pened to see you hurrying through the streets, and after- 
ward saw Octavia in all that bridal finery in a carriage 
with her maid. Of course I guessed the truth at once. 
I followed her here and became a witness to the mar- 
riage. I had no idea you young people had so much 
spirit or were so deeply in love. You will return with 
us to Cragthorpe, I suppose, Mr. Conyers. You are 
master there now." 

“t am glad you take our marriage so pleasantly," said 
Conyers. “ Octavia and I were afraid you and Lord 
Hawkhurst would be angry at our escapade. But we 


136 


Conyers’s villainy prospers. 


have oniy hastened our marriage by a few months ; that 
is all. And as you take the matter so easily, I am per- 
suaded that the earl will do so, also.'' 

‘‘ I don’t know," said Mr. Callender, shaking his head- 
“ Hawkhurst is a great stickler for forms and ceremonies, 
and he has a lion’s own temper. But he’s fond of 
Octavia, and you two ought to be able to make peace 
with him. I propose that you go to Hawks’ Cliff and 
announce your marriage before going to Cragthorpe.” 

“We will do so," said Octavia. . “I shall not know a 
minute’s peace until I know what dear Lord Hawkhurst 
has to say to our marriage, Rollyn." 

The young lady was oppressed with a sense of dread 
and anxiety in regard to the earl’s possible reception of 
the news of the marriage, and Conyers experienced the 
same dread of meeting his noble kinsman, without, how- 
ever, sharing Octavia’s anxiety. With Cragthorpe as 
his own, he had little anxiety in regard to any man's 
displeasure. 

“ I dare say he will feel as I do, that you have been 
rash and foolish,” smiled Mr. Callender ; “but, like me, 
he will forgive you. I have only one regret. I don't 
distrust you, Conyers, but there should have been 
marriage-settlements. Cragthorpe should have been 
secured to Octavia — but there’s no use fretting now. 
I came over in the barouche. You must return in it. 
Shall we go now ?" 

Conyers gave his bride his arm and led her from the 
church. The Cragthorpe barouche was in waiting at 
the door. Conyers assisted Octavia into the vehicle and 
took his place beside her, wrapping around her an 
Indian cashmere shawl, and placing over her bridal- 
wreath a hat and a dark veil, which the lady's maid 
produced. Mr. Callender took the opposite seat, with 


A PEARL OUT OF THE GUTTER. 


137 


his back to the horses ; Huplick mounted the box, and 
the carriage drove away swiftly. 

The lady’s maid returned to the dressmaker’s for her 
mistress’s riding-attire, and thence proceeded to Crag- 
thorpe in a cab. 

Mr. Callender had not a reproach to utter during the 
long, rough drive to Hawks’ Cliff. He was full of little 
jests and pleasantries, until they neared their destina- 
tion, and then a deep gravity fell upon him, as it had 
already upon his companions. 

“ If it were not that Octavia is the daughter of the 
dearest friend he ever had, I should quite dread meet- 
ing the earl,” said Mr. Callender, giving voice to the 
sentiment that was shared by his companions. ‘‘The 
truth is, Hawkhurst is a roaring lion when he is angry. 
He’s one of those men who dare cut off their own right 
hand in a fit of rage.” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

A PEARL OUT OF THE GUTTER. 

Beryl found her life, as she became more used to it, 
inexpressively dreary. She performed her duties as 
daily governess to the young Ryans, at Brunswick 
Square, with the most conscientious care and fidelity. 
She was punctual to her engagements in all weathers. 
She learned to embroider well, and executed pillows 
and chair-stripes, which were left on sale at a West End 
bazaar, where immense supplies of such work were 


I 


138 


A PEARL OUT OF THE GUTTER. 


exhibited by needy gentlewomen ; but the sales were 
infrequent, and scarcely repaid the cost of the materials. 
Women’s work of all kinds seemed a drug in the 
market. 

It is true that she did not live quite upon a guinea a 
week. She had money remaining from the sale of her 
trinkets in Switzerland, but she husbanded this small 
fund for ‘‘ a rainy day,'’ for more pressing needs, and as 
the means of forwarding her life purpose. She used as 
little of this money as possible. Her fare was Lenten 
all the time. She gave herself no relaxation, had no 
amusements, but walked the weary treadmill of her _ 
daily duties until her young soul sickened even of life. 

It happened one Saturday afternoon that a desolate 
rain was falling, and a visit to Hyde Park would have 
been fruitless. There would be no carriages out on a 
day like this, when the gas-lights beamed in sickly 
fashion all day in the shops, and a gray desolation 
brooded like a nightmare over the mighty town. 
Beryl’s fire was not lighted. The price of coal had gone 
up latterly, and Mrs. Toploft, having read an essay by 
some scientific alarmist that the coal deposits of 
England would at a certain appointed date fail utterly 
and altogether, had instituted a rigorous economy of 
coal in her household, in order to put off the day of 
national calamily. 

On her return from Brunswick Square she ate her 
luncheon — an unbuttered roll. Then she resumed her 
rubber overshoes, her long, shrouding blue waterproof 
sacque and cape, her round, gray straw hat, her gloves 
and umbrella, and went out again into the wet streets. 

She had a destination — the bazaar where her work 
was exhibited — and she walked briskly along the Strand 
to Trafalgar Square and on to Regent street, unmindful 


A PEARL OUT OF THE GUTTER. 


139 


of the rain. It was a long walk, but she gave no 
thought to her weariness. 

But, on reaching the bazaar, she found that her work 
was not sold. All her little plans vanished like smoke 
into thin air. She turned away, not disheartened — she 
had been used to disappointments, and had ceased to 
wonder at them ; she would have wondered at good 
fortune now — and plunged again into the street. 

She did not walk briskly now, but looked into the 
shops as she passed, and scanned pieces of new music in 
windows, and read a whole page in a booksellers’ 
window, and beguiled her walk with these small pleas- 
ures, and so drifted back again into Regent street. 

The air was very thick and murky. The rain was like 
a great veil. One could not see a rod in advance. A 
few gentlemen were hurrying along ; a few forlorn 
beggar-women with children were huddled under door- 
ways ; a few working-women walked discreetly, sheltered 
under umbrellas. Cabs rattled through the streets, 
bearing people from railway stations, from business 
places, from visitings. 

Beryl stood upon a street-corner, watching an 
opportunity to cross. Presently, when a favorable 
opportunity occurred, she set out on her perilous journey 
across the street. There was no halting-place midway, 
as is so frequently the case in London, and she was 
obliged to look first one way and then another, to assure 
herself that no danger threatened. 

She was half-way across when three or four cabs, 
approaching from opposite directions, came swiftly 
toward her out of the gray, wet gloom. Two cabmen 
cried out to her furiously at the same moment to look 
out. Beryl started to run. Her foot slipped upon the 


140 


A PEARL OUT OF THE GUTTER. 


muddy, slippery pavement, her umbrella went whirling 
out of her hand, and she fell headlong to the ground. 

Before she could recover herself, a cab-horse was so 
near that her unaided escape was impossible. The cab- 
driver, engaged in an altercation with another driver, 
did not see her. A moment more and she would have 
been a crushed and shapeless mass under the horse’s 
feet, but a young man passing along the street had 
witnessed her fall and bounded forward with a lion- 
bound to her rescue. As quick as a flash, he seized the 
cab-horse by the bit and reared him back upon his 
haunches. Then he lifted the girl to her feet and 
carried her to the sidewalk. 

The incident had scarcely occupied five seconds. It 
had transpired so quickly that Beryl had had no time to 
perceive her peril before she was rescued. 

The grip of her preserver upon the horse’s bit had 
been a grip of steel. In carrying her to the sidewalk 
he bore her weight with apparent ease, as if she had 
been an infant. He sat her down upon the walk, con- 
tinuing to support her, for her face was deathly white 
and she looked faint and ill. 

Her hat hung upon the back of her neck, her small 
head, covered closely with little red curls, was bare, but 
she had never looked lovelier than now in her terror and 
distress. Her transparent complexion, her big, vivid 
brown eyes glowing like stars, her tender, exquisite 
mouth — all made up a beautiful picture as lovely as 
beautiful. Her rescuer thought he had never seen a 
being half so lovely. 

‘‘Are you faint ?” he asked. “ Let me take you into 
one of these shops ?” 

His voice was low and gentlemanly. Beryl was con- 


A PEAKL OUT OF THE GUTTER. 


141 


scious of a feeling of surprise, and looked at him more 
earnestly. She saw a slender, tall young gentleman, 
with white hands, a fair, handsome face, and an air of 
well-bred languor and indolence. Was this her rescuer, 
whose quick, strong grip had saved her from probable 
death ? 

“ I am not hurt ; I am not faint,” she answered 
in a fluttering voice. I thank you for your great 
kindness.” 

She would have moved away, but he detained her 
gently, and said : 

You tremble as if you had an ague. You are not 
able to walk. There is an empty cab. I will send you 
home in it.” 

He signaled the cab, which drew up at the curbstone. 

Beryl demurred, declining the vehicle, saying that 
she could easily walk. He believed that poverty was 
the cause of her refusal to use the cab, and he saw that 
she was not able really to walk a single block unaided. 
She had met with a nervous shock, and should be got 
home as soon as possible. 

I shall go to my lodgings in the cab,” he said, 
courteously, ‘‘and I beg you will allow me to set you 
down at your own home. My name is Noble Desmond. 
Allow me to perform the service of a brother in this 
emergency.” 

He was so courteous, so respectful, that Beryl 
experienced no distrust of him. She felt weak and ill 
also, and so allowed him to help her into the cab. 

“ What address ?” 

“ Arundel street. Strand.” 

Desmond closed the door, and mounted the box with 
the driver. Beryl sank back upon the seat and closed 
her eves in faintness. 


142 


A PEARL OUT OF THE GUTTER. 


Arundel street, Strand, was gained in due course of 
time, and the cab stopped, and Desmond alighted, came 
to the door, and asked the number of the house. Beryl 
told him. He walked to the number designated, arriv- 
ing in time to assist Beryl up the steps and to ring the 
knocker of Mrs. Toploft’s lodging-house. 

‘‘ You are very kind,” said Beryl. “ I thank you 
more than I can express for your kindness to me, Mr. 
Desmond.” 

The sound of shuffling feet was heard in the passage 
within leading to the door. 

‘‘ Will you not tell me your name ?” asked Desmond, 
courteously, yet with kindly evident interest. 

“ My name is Beryl Star,” the girl answered ; Miss 
Star.” 

The housemaid opened the door. Desmond waited 
until Beryl had vanished into the house. Then he 
descended the steps, gave his address to the cabman, 
and entered the vehicle. 

‘‘Miss Star!” he repeated. “Beryl Star! I never 
believed in love at first sight before. How little I 
thought, when I spoke of picking up a pearl out of the 
gutter, that I should literally find a pearl of price in the 
mud of Regent street. I have found my destiny at last. 
I shall marry this beautiful Beryl Star, or,” he added, 
with the solemnity of a perfect conviction, “ I shall go 
to my grave unwedded.” 


AN UNLOOKED-FOR CLEW. 


143 


CHAPTER XIX. 

AN UNLOOKED-FOR CLEW. 

Beryl made her way up-stairs to her own chilly, cheer- 
less room, and flung herself upon her couch. No one 
came near her. For an hour she lay quietly, resting 
after her adventure, but she finally arose, her teeth 
chattering, and removed her uncomfortable garments, 
putting on dry ones, and sat down at the corner of her 
hearth. 

I had a narrow escape,” she thought, with a shudder. 
‘‘ I shall remember Noble Desmond while I live. He 
looked as if his name indicated his nature.” 

In the evening, another event happened in Beryl’s life. 
She was sitting grave and thoughtful, when a knock 
sounded upon her door, and Mrs. Toploft entered, and 
proceeded to explain : 

You see, miss, I am going out of the lodging-house 
business. I am going to leave England.” 

Beryl looked her surprise. 

‘‘Where are you going ?” she inquired. 

“ To Australia, miss,” said Mrs. Toploft, in a tone 
half of triumph, half of regret. “ Did I ever tell you 
about my two sons ? They are great, strong, rough 
fellows, and are sheep farmers in Australia. They have 
got a good house apiece, and a half-dozen children 
apiece also. John — he’s my youngest-born — he’s just 
lost his wife, and his children are all young, and he begs 
me to come out to him, and bring up his children for 


144 


AN UNLOOKED-FOR CLEW. 



him, and make a home for him and for them. It’s my 
duty to go. I shall sell the lease of this house. The 
lease has only a year to run, and I know a person who 
wants to take it off my hands. The furniture I shall 
send to the auction-rooms. I am not troubled about 
any of my lodgers but you.” 

‘‘ Can I not stay on here with your successor, Mrs. Top- 
loft ?” inquired Beryl. 

Oh, dear, no. The person who wants to take the 
house is the person next door. She keeps chambers for , 
gentlemen, there’s not a lady in her house. I know she 
would refuse to keep you, even if it were a proper place 
for you among so many gentlemen. How would you 
like the neighborhood of Oxford street ? I know of 
lodgings just out of Oxford street that would suit you \ 
exactly, but for the sum you pay here you would only 
get an attic there.” 

If I must leave this house, Mrs. Toploft, I shall be ^ 
very grateful to you for finding me any honest shelter,” 
said Beryl. “ I think I should like the neighborhood of 
Oxford street.” 

‘‘ Then I’ll speak to Mrs. Margie about a room for you 
to-morrow,” said Mrs. Toploft, decidedly. ‘‘ She’s a ! 
good, honest woman. She was a housekeeper many 
years in very good families, and laid up a handsome bit j 
of money. She’s got a suite of rooms, well-furnished, < 
that they let for five guineas a week. She knows so , 

many rich families, that she may be able to get you a j 

better situation than your present one. I don’t know ^ 
of a better place for you.” j 

Shall you leave England very soon ?” 

I shall close out my furniture this week. I shall 
leave England within a fortnight. It’s a swdden start, . : 


I AM NOT HURT. I AM NOT FAINT,” SHK ANSWERED. 141 


0 








1 

1 







AN UNLOOKED-FOR CLEW. 


145 


miss, but England can't hold me, now that I know how 
much my poor boy wants me.” 

Beryl and Mrs. Toploft went in a cab to inspect the 
new lodging. 

The house in question was in a quiet street opening 
out of Oxford street, and was a respectable brick dwell- 
ing of four stories. Mrs. Toploft sounded the brightly- 
polished knocker, and the visitors were admitted by a 
smart housemaid. Mrs. Margie, the lodging-house 
keeper, a spare woman, past middle age, and wearing a 
cap, presently appeared. Mrs. Toploft performed the 
ceremony of introduction. 

The candle light fell full upon Beryl’s face, as with 
gentle courtesy she acknowledged the introduction. 
But Mrs. Margie stared at her with wide-open eyes, 
almost as if the girl had been a ghost. 

‘‘Who — who did you say?” she asked. “What name, 
Mrs. Toploft ?” 

“‘Miss Star,”’ said Mrs. Toploft. “She is a very 
nice young lady, Mrs. Margie, and I’ll vouch for her. 
She is a relative of the Stars of Surrey.” 

“ I beg pardon,” said Mrs. Margie, “ but you remind 
me of a young lady I knew once, many years ago. I 
was her housekeeper — poor dear ! — at St. John’s Wood. 
Your eyes are the very copy of hers.” 

A sudden agitation made Beryl’s heart beat wijdly, 
but her voice was calm and steady as she asked : 

“How long ago was that, Mrs. Margie ?” 

“ It’s eighteen years since I entered her service ; it’s 
a little over seventeen years since I left it.” 

A sense of suffocation came upon Beryl. Had she 
stumbled upon a clew to her mother’s secret history 
during that year before Beryl’s birth ? She believed 
that Providence had led her to this house, and that a 


146 


AN UNLOOKED-FOR CLEW. 


solution to the mystery of poor Jenny Star’s life might 
possibly rest in the keeping of this very woman. 

‘‘Will you go up and look at your room, Miss Star/” 
asked Mrs. Margie. 

The girl assented. Terms were soon arranged, and it 
was agreed that Beryl should take possession of her 
room on the morrow. 

“I hope I shall be a pleasant reminder to you of the 
lady you once served, Mrs. Margie,” said the young 
girl, smiling, yet anxious. “Were you fond of her?” 

“Very. She was sweet-spoken, and yet had a dignity 
that showed her the true lady,” said Mrs. Margie. 
“ She looked like you, but her hair was different in 
color. The resemblance is curious, but not at all 
uncommon. Among all the people in the world it would 
be odd if no two were alike. Possibly you may be of 
her kin, though. Her name was Mrs. Gray.” 

“ I do not know any one of that name,” said Beryl. 
“Did you know her given name?” 

“ I heard her husband call her Jenny, sometimes.” 

Beryl trembled and her face whitened. 

She knew now beyond all peradventure that she was 
on the right track — that the Mrs. Gray of St. John’s 
Wood was her own dead young mother. Yet she held 
in her emotions with a stern and rare self-control, and 
asked very quietly : 

“ Was she married, Mrs. Margie ?” 

“ Yes ; I called her Mrs. Gray. That was the name 
she was known by at Clematis Villa. The colonel, Mrs. 
Gray’s husband, was Colonel Gray, who fairly worshiped 
her ; but he was proud as Lucifer, and they quarreled 
sometimes terribly. But next day he always brought a 
peace-offering of jewelry or some such thing, and petted 
her until she smiled again. I was paid a good salary, 


AN UNLOOKED-FOR CLEW. 


147 


\ 

\ 

\and kept my eyes and ears well closed ; but something 
Was wrong in the relations of the master and mistress, 
^nd one night she had a last quarrel with him, and fled 
out of the house like a mad creature, and I never saw 
h^r again. Whether she’s living or dead I don’t know.” 

A strange story,” said the girl, in a trembling voice. 

Did Colonel Gray disappear also ?” 

‘‘No ; he sought for her everywhere. He set me and 
the two servants to look for her. He thought she had 
killed herself, yet made us continue the search. One 
day, when we were all out, she came back to the villa, 
admitted herself with the key she had always kept in 
her pocket, and carried away her clothes and jewels in 
a cab which she had in waiting. One of the neighbors 
saw her enter the house and go out again, but could 
give no clew to the direction she had taken in departing. 
The cabman could not be traced.” 

“ Now, Mrs. Margie,” said Mrs. Toploft, argumenta- 
tively, “that couple were not respectable. Did you 
ever see Mrs. Gray’s marriage lines ?” 

“ No ; but she was a lady, and thought herself the 
colonel’s wife. My theory has always been,” said Mrs. 
Margie, “ that there had been a mock marriage between 
them, and she had taken it for genuine. I did see her get 
on her knees to him once — they didn’t know I saw them, 
and the seeing was quite by accident — and heard her 
implore him to acknowledge her as his wife, for the sake 
of her poor father and her dear brother. But some- 
thing she said angered him, and he got into one of his 
rages, and told her he would never own his low-born 
wife. And yet he seemed to worship her. I am sure 
that she was the victim of a mock marriage.” 

“ What became of Colonel Gray ?” asked Beryl, in 


US 


AN UNLOOKED-FOK CLEW. 


low, choked tones. What did he do after her dis- 
appearance ?” 

‘‘ He kept on the villa for six months, and came out 
to it once a week to see if she had been back again ; 
but she never came — at least, we never saw her ; and at 
last he was ordered out to India with his regiment, and 
he gave up the house and dismissed the servants, and 
went away quite broken-hearted. I have never seen 
him from that day to this. I presume he died in 
India.” 

“ And that is all you know of the story ?” inquired 
Mrs. Toploft, disappointedly. 

That is all. But I should like to know what became 
of her,” sighed Mrs. Margie. 

Beryl arose, a prolongation of conversation upon this 
subject becoming insupportable under her present 
excitement. Mrs. Toploft arose, also, and they took 
their leave. 

The next day. Beryl entered into possession of her 
new home. 

It will be remembered that among the jewels Mr. Star 
had given her during her brief visit to Starwood had 
been a peculiar pendant to attach to a necklace, being a 
rare pigeon’s-blood ruby of . peculiar shape and well- 
marked. This had been found among the effects of 
Jenny Star, and was of great value, and appeared. to be 
a family heirloom of considerable age. Beryl had worn 
this pendant under the folds of her dress since her uncle 
had given it to her, but upon this first night in her new 
lodging she wore it outside her dress in a faint hope 
that Mrs. Margie would see it and recognize it. 

She had eaten her supper, the study-lamp was lighted, 
shedding a mellow glow around, the fire burned brightly, 
and the red gleams streamed out upon the carpet, when 


AN UNLOOKED-FOR CLEW. 


140 


Mrs. Margie ascended the stairs to call upon her new 
lodger. Beryl gave her admittance and begged her to 
be seated. The invitation being accepted, the girl sat 
down in the full glow of the light and waited with 
trembling expectancy. 

But Mrs. Margie paid no heed to the ornament. It 
was not until she had discussed Mrs. Toploft and her 
affairs with critical attention, and had told of various 
great families that she had lived in, that she even 
noticed the ruddy jewel, and then she said carelessly : 

‘‘ That’s a pretty locket of yours,. Miss Star. It shines 
and glows like a living coal.” 

‘‘ Would you like to see it ?” asked the girl. 

She stepped forward to exhibit it. Mrs. Margie gave 
a curious glance at the jewel, then started and uttered a 
loud, strange cry. 

‘^What is the matter, Mrs. Margie?” inquired Beryl. 
“ Have you ever seen it before ?” 

‘‘A hundred times. It was hers — Mrs. Gray’s. How 
came it in your possession. Miss S’tar ? The colonel 
gave it to her before he brought her to Clematis Villa, 
and I heard her say he had given it to her as a wedding- 
gift. She thought the world of it.” 

Is there no mistake ? Are you sure it was this 
jewel ?” 

Sure ? I can swear to it in any court in the land. I 
have had it in my hands many times. I was right ; your 
likeness to her means something. What relation was 
Mrs. Gray to you ?” 

She was my mother !” 

What ! She your mother !” 

“Yes, she was my mother. I must have been born 
only a few weeks after she fled from Clematis Villa.” 

“ And she — where is she ?” 


150 


PROSPEROUS. 


‘‘ She died at my birth.” 

Mrs. Margie wiped her eyes. Amazement and a 
host of other emotions struggled within her for the mas- 
tery. At last she asked : 

How is it you do not bear your father’s name ?” 

‘‘ Was that his name ? Was his real name Gray ?” 

“ I don’t know — I think not.” 

“ Then I will keep the name my mother bore in her 
innocent girlhood. I am glad to hear that she thought 
herself his wife. She never told her story to her kin- 
dred, and they believed the worst of her. Her brother 
curses her memory to-day,” said Beryl, passionately. 
“ I hope that Colonel Gray lives — I will not call him 
father — and that some day I shall meet him face to face. 
There is a just God, and some day I know I shall see 
Colonel Gray and know him ! And he shall know me 
also. I pray God the day of our meeting be near at 
hand !” 


CHAPTER XX. 

PROSPEROUS. 

Octavia’s face was pale as she descended from the 
barouche in the carriage-porch at Hawks’ Cliff and was 
assisted up the steps by Conyers. Mr. Callender fol- 
lowed slowly, anxious as to their reception by Lord 
Hawkhurst, and deeming it better to remain in the back- 
ground until the first explosion of the earl’s wrath had 
passed over, A servant opened the house-door before 


PROSPEROUS. 


151 


they reached it, and the couple advanced into the baro- 
nial hall of the castle. 

“ Where is Lord Hawkhurst, Peters ?” asked Conyers, 
in a low voice. 

‘‘ In the library, sir,'' replied the servant. 

‘‘ Alone, Peters ?" 

The servant replied in the affirmative, and took a step 
in the direction of the library. 

“Don't announce us, Peters," said Conyers. “We 
will announce ourselves. Courage, Octavia. You are 
actually pale. Take my arm." 

He drew her arm in his, and led her down the grand 
old hall toward the arched double-doors opening into 
the library. He felt her tremble. 

The great library was dim and full of dusky shadows, 
although it was yet early afternoon. As the door 
opened the earl looked up, frowning. The frown 
changed to a look of surprise as he recognized the 
intruders. He arose and came toward them with a 
smile of welcome. 

“ This is an unexpected pleasure. Miss Windsor," he 
said, with pleasant courtesy. “ I am very glad indeed to 
see you. Are you masquerading ?" and he glanced at 
her bridal attire. 

“Oh, my Lord!" said Octavia, tremblingly; “we — 
I—" 

“We are not masquerading, my Lord," said Conyers, 
with a smile. “We are only two very ardent young 
people who love each other dearly. You gave your con- 
sent to our marriage, and so did Mr. Callender, and so 
Octavia and I have been romantic enough to go away 
by ourselves and quietly get married." 

“ What I" 


152 


PKOSPEROUS. 


“Allow me, my Lord, to present my wife, Mrs. Rollyn 
Conyers.” 

“ Your wife ? You are married ?” 

“Yes, my Lord. We were married at Penzance, in 
church, this morning. We are just come from church.” 

Lord Hawkhurst looked amazed. His face grew 
redder than his hair. An angry indignation glittered in 
his eyes. 

“ Is this a miserable joke ?” he demanded. “Or is it 
a more miserable truth ? Have you taken your bride in 
this sneaking fashion, Conyers, as if you dared not give 
her freedom long enough to prepare for a suitable 
bridal ? I call the proceeding that of a selfish sneak !” 

Conyers’s face flushed, but he controlled his temper. 

“Octavia loves me, and I love her,” he said. “What’s 
the use of our waiting months to prepare a trousseau 
and issue bridal cards and all that rubbish ? We don’t 
care for the congratulations of people whom we don’t 
know. Our marriage has not been secret. It is known 
all over Penzance by this time. We did not intend it 
to be secret. It was simply quiet, and all we need to 
complete our happiness is your kind approval of our 
little escapade.” 

“ Approval ! Little escapade !” the earl raged. 

“ You know,” urged Conyers, “ that you approved our 
betrothal. Why do you not approve our marriage ?” 

“ Why, you haven’t known each other a fortnight! 
Of course I approved your betrothal, but one would 
suppose you would desire to study each other’s charac- 
ter, to get better acquainted, to — bah ! there’s no fool 
like a young fool, whatever the proverb says. I regard 
this hasty marriage, contracted without my knowledge, 
as an act of the grossest disrespect to me. By Jove ! 
I have a good mind never to see either of you again. I 


PROSPEROUS. 


153 


thought Tom Windsor’s daughter a model of feminine 
virtues, but w'omen are fools ! As for you, Conyers — to 
take advantage of an innocent young girl’s love for you 
to lead her into such a hurried marriage as this — it was 
the act of a scheming, pitiful scoundrel, and I want 
nothing more to do with you. You will take your 
departure at once.” 

The earl was frightful to look upon in his passionate 
wrath. His face flamed, his keen eyes glittered like 
flashing sword-blades. His massive features were con- 
vulsed with his rage. • 

Conyers smiled at his lordship’s excessive anger. 

“Very well, my Lord,” he said, coolly. “ I will go to 
my own home of Cragthorpe. Come, Octavia.” 

“ Go !” said the earl, hoarsely. “ Let me never see 
your face again. You need not hope to be my heir.” 

Conyers turned to depart, but Octavia, knowing all 
that depended upon a reconciliation with the earl, 
broke from Conyers’s hand and ran to the earl, and 
actually threw herself at his feet, her face wet with her 
tears. 

“ Oh, my Lord !” she pleaded, “ don’t be angry with 
us ! We did not think you would be offended with us. 
Forgive us, my Lord ; pray forgive us, for my father’s 
sake ! For the sake of the love he bore you, look 
kindly upon his daughter !” 

The earl’s face softened. He made as if to lift up 
the kneeling woman, but Octavia clung to his knees in 
an agony Conyers could not understand. She realized 
that wealth and splendor, all that she hoped for or 
desired in life, were dependent upon her restoration to 
Lord Hawkhurst’s favor, and she was not one to shrink 
even from self-abasement when that would best serve 
her purpose. 


154 


PKOSPEROUS. 


We have been rash and foolish,” she continued, 
weeping ; “ but you consented to our marriage, you 
know. Dear Lord Hawkhurst, uncle Griffin has 
forgiven us ; will not you ? It is Tom Windsor’s daugh- 
ter who kneels to you and begs you for his sake to for- 
give and love his child !” 

The appeal was successful. The earl’s rages were 
always quickly spent. He had a generous, chivalrous 
nature at bottom, and he lifted the girl now in his 
brawny arms and kissed her. 

Conyers approached, pleased and radiant. 

‘‘Forgive me, also, my Lord,” he said, holding out 
his hand. “We thought our hurried marriage would 
please you. I have won the heiress of Cragthorpe, as 
you bade me do, and if your former desire still remains, 
you can cause her estate some day to be united to that 
of Hawks’ Cliff.” 

The earl accepted his kinsman’s hand. 

Mr. Callender now made an opportune entrance, and 
the earl was presently restored to a perfect good humor. 
Smiles replaced the bride’s tears, and a pleasant scene 
succeeded. 

“You must all remain to dine with me,” said Lord 
Hawkhurst. “ I shall not let you return to Cragthorpe 
until to-morrow.” 

“ The carriage is waiting to take our rash young pair 
home to Cragthorpe,” said Mr. Callender, smiling. “ I 
happened into the church at Penzance in time to witness 
the marriage, but too late to interrupt it if I had wished 
to do so. And after all. Lord Hawkhurst, so long as 
they were betrothed with our consent, what does it 
matter whether they are married quietly or with pomp 
and ceremony, so long as they please themselves, and 


PROSPEROUS. 


155 


whether they marry now or some months hence ? I am 
perfectly satisfied and well pleased." 

“We will make the best of it," said the earl. “But 
why must you all return to Cragthorpe to-day ?" 

“ Because, when I learned of the marriage," said Mr. 
Callender, smoothly, “I made up my mind to approve 
it — since it would do no good now to show disapproval 
— and sent a mounted messenger to Cragthorpe with 
orders that a wedding-breakfast should be prepared 
as quickly as possible. The tenantry have heard the 
joyful news, and I shall have an impromptu ball at 
Cragthorpe this evening. The heiress of the Windsors 
must not be married with no one to make merry or 
wish her happiness. Come home with us, my Lord, 
and make merry with us." 

Lord Hawkhurst was prevailed upon to consent to 
join in the bridal festivities, and promised to follow the 
bridal-party to Cragthorpe in his own carriage. 

Conyers brought in Octavia’s shawl and hat, and 
assisted her to envelop herself closely against the 
chilly weather. The visitors then took their leave. 

The drive to Cragthorpe was a merry one, every one 
of the three schemers exulting in the success of his 
and her own private plans. 

It was nearly four o’clock when they drove into the 
home-grounds of Octavia's residence, yet the darkness 
was already falling over land and sea. Everything 
worked smoothly to the close of the wedding festivities. 
It was nearly midnight when the sound of music died 
out of the house, and the last humble guest had taken 
his departure. 

Lord Hawkhurst, resisting all entreaties to remain all 
night, caused his carriage to be ordered and prepared 


156 


IN PARK LANE. 


for his departure. He stood in the drawing-room, 
ruddy and smiling, and said benignantly : 

Octavia, Conyers, I regret my harshness of to-day. 
I am pleased, after all, with your marriage. Shall you 
go away on a bridal tour ?" 

*‘No,” answered Octavia. ‘‘ We desire to remain here 
until the London season opens. Then we will go to 
town. I suppose we must get a house there.’' 

“ I intend to occupy my own town-house during this 
season,” said Lord Hawkhurst, graciously. ‘‘ Conyers 
is to be my heir, and I beg you both to establish your- 
selves with me. Octavia, will you be mistress of my 
house during the fashionable season, and brighten my 
lonely life with your gentle presence ?” 

Octavia yielded a joyful assent. Her schemes were 
indeed prospering. She expressed her thanks warmly^ 
and the earl, in a glow of pleasure, took his leave. 


CHAPTER XXL 

IN PARK LANE. 

The marriage of Miss Windsor, of Cragthorpe, to 
Rollyn Conyers, Esq., was duly announced in the court 
newspapers, and also in the local Cornish journals. The 
best country families called upon the newly-married 
couple. A round of festivities followed. On Christmas- 
eve Conyers and his new bride gave a grand dinner at 
Cragthorpe, followed by a ball at which the best county 
families were well represented. There was a gay 
sprinkling of uniforms, the officers of a dashing regi- 


m 


IN PARK LANE. 


157 


ment stationed at a neighboring town being present in 
force. 

Early in January, the Hawks* Cliff house-steward went 
up to town with a staff of servants to prepare Hawk- 
hurst House for occupancy. He employed skilful decora- 
tors and upholsterers, and himself superintended the 
work, so that before the end of the month the house was 
in fine order, and the earl had arrived and taken up his 
quarters in it. 

Hawkhurst House was a handsome double dwelling in 
Park Lane. A suite immediately above the drawing- 
room had been prepared for the occupancy of Conyers 
and Octavia, and during the first week of February they 
came up to town and established themselves in it. 

Upon the third day of her residence in town, about 
the middle of the afternoon, Octavia, in full carriage- 
costume of olive-green velvet and silver-fox furs, was 
seated in her boudoir alone. The carriage had been 
ordered, and she was expecting to hear it announced. 
A step was heard on the marble stair in the hall, approach- 
ing her door. She looked up expectantly. A knock was 
sounded on her door. In answer to her bidding, the 
door opened, and Mr. Callender entered the room. 

“ Is it you Uncle Griffin ?’* said Octavia, not rising. 
“ I thought it was some one to announce the carriage. 
But it’s not quite time,” she added, with a glance at the 
small ormolu clock. Why did you not send a servant 
up to tell me you were here ?” 

“ I preferred to announce myself,” said Mr. Callender, 
looking about him. I wanted to see you alone and 
secure from interruption. Has the earl said anything 
about making his will since you came up to town ?” 

“ Not a word ; but he treats Rollyn and me as his 


158 


IN PARK LANE, 


heirs. He promised to make his will in our favor ; he 
will keep his word.’' 

“ Unless he discovers that he has been deceived by 
you. I know him well. He has gigantic faults of 
pride and temper, but he is incapable of a lie or of a 
dishonorable act, and he hates both with all his soul. 
Now, if he finds out that you knew of your uncle’s 
existence before you married, that you made haste to 
marry to secure a home and position, he is quite likely 
to accuse you of dishonorable conduct, and set you 
adrift, along with your husband. You must persuade 
him to make his will at once.” 

‘‘7 must! How can I ? He is only fifty years of 
age, in the very prime of life and strength. How would 
he take such a suggestion from me ?” 

“ Perhaps it would be better for me to speak to him 
on the subject,” said Mr. Callender, thoughtfully. ‘‘ I 
am persuaded it would, upon reflection. He can’t impute 
bad motives to me. He must also make a settlement 
upon Conyers at once, beyond the power of his caprice 
to change. I will see Hawkhurst on these points this 
very evening, as I am to dine here. Your part must be 
then simply to win his love. Like most red-haired 
people, he is warm-hearted, generous, impulsive. Play 
the daughter to him. Hang about him ; pet him ; win 
his love ; so that when the worst comes, he’ll be your 
best friend. You’re a perfect cat, Octavia ; you can 
purr or scratch as the humor takes you. Purr upon 
him.” 

Octavia’s face clouded. 

Have 3 ^ou heard from Canada again ?” she whis- 
pered. 

‘‘ Yes, I had a letter to-day.” 

‘‘ And he is now on his way home ?” 


IN PARK LANE. 


159 


“ No, not yet. He has been very ill of fever, in a 
little backwoods hamlet, and has barely escaped death. 
Think of that, Octavia. How near you have been to 
the actual ownership of Cragthorpe, after all ! He was 
saved only by the most devoted nursing from a kind old 
French woman, and a sister of mercy whom she had 
summoned. He was not able to sit up when he wrote. 
He thinks he will hardly dare undertake the voyage 
home before spring — say in April." 

•‘Two months' reprieve," said Octavia, with along 
breath of relief. 

“ In two months' time you must have made yourself 
secure here, and you can do it. I have often thought 
you the most artful of women ; prove yourself such now. 
Here is your uncle Windsor’s letter. Read it, and the 
patronizing allusion to yourself at the conclusion, and 
then realize how much depends upon prompt move- 
ment. Lord Hawkhurst must be won to make his will 
before he ever discovers your scheming." 

Mr. Callender drew out a letter from his note-book 
and handed it to his niece. Octavia seized and opened 
it, her eyes eagerly scanning its contents ; her face 
betrayed agitation, bitterness and chagrin, as she read 
how near her uncle had been unto death, how narrowly 
she had escaped being owner of Cragthorpe, after all. 

She was in the midst of the perusal of the letter when 
the door opened abruptly, and Conyers entered the 
room. 

With the instinct of secretiveness, Octavia thrust the 
letter hurriedly into her pocket. 

Conyers marked the movement and looked sus- 
piciously from his wife to her uncle and back again. 

“ Octavia," he said, coolly, “your carriage awaits you. 
I shall drive with you in the park. I have, perhaps, 


160 


IN PARK LANE. 


intruded upon a secret conference,” he added. ‘‘ Shall 
I order the carriage back to the news and relieve you 
of my company ?” 

“ By no means,” said Octavia, rising. I am quite 
ready. Uncle Griffin, you will drive with us ?” 

She withdrew the crumpled letter from her pocket, 
and placed it in Mr. Callender’s hands, Conyers watch- 
ing her still suspiciously. Callender bestowed the letter 
in his pocket and opened the door for his niece to pass 
out. 

The three descended the stairs, entered the carriage 
and drove slowly down the street toward Piccadilly. 
They were all silent, Mr. Callender pretending to look 
for acquaintances, but secretly watching the young 
couple opposite him, Conyers gloomy and thoughtful, 
and Octavia with a smile on her lips and an anxious 
contraction of her brows in odd contrast to the false 
smile. 

They performed the customary drive through the 
park and returned to Hawkhurst House in time to dress 
for dinner. 

Dinner was over soon after nine o’clock, and a little 
later Conyers departed to his club, having already 
secured membership in a West End club. The earl was 
due at the House of Lords somewhere about midnight, 
and proposed spending an hour before that at a political 
club he much frequented. It was his custom to smoke 
a cigar after dinner, and having consulted his watch, he 
invited Mr. Callender to accompany him to his smoking- 
room and join him in his proposed indulgence. 

This afforded the opportunity Octavia’s uncle and 
fellow-conspirator desired. He accepted the invitation 
briskly, and followed the carl in time to escape certain 
fashionable visitors who called upon Octavia. 



>4 






• 4 


- I 







f w ^ • 

t 






•>- 


V-. 


-• f 


r^: 


.^*7 

a? 

.-'•i ^ ^‘•-w 


\ 


r*-' *. 


--IS 


J." .d 


<1 


w 


•c-:' 


Lt-r, 


'Tr 


•i( f 


:r • • _ 




\ 


• * 


• ►'* 




w* *'-■ 


*>4 


ii^r. ' 


£-■> 


. r. ,(.*< ; 




• ‘ • y 
<- .J 


iV - 


*f' 








'f I 


**- » 


« 


^t, 


*1/’ 


i- ' 


.,:p. 


I >- ; 


% 


• I 


-i?-. 


« * « 
,1 




• I 


m 


v: 


\ 


ii 

‘..2 




•. 


^ r 


tv 


'•*V 

Cr 


I 4 

» » 

0 

V 


V- 


T ’ 




r. 










■ ^ * • 

■ *-Z‘ >-^*1 


<v. *■ 


• t 


2P?^'’ -T * - '!»-*■' . «", • 









■V^'* t •* 

-Sk. • 


r ^ |- ^ 


• *»■ 


> * 


r*^ ’ ^ 


■>. 


.-.•vr-s- 




* f 
- 


V'*- : 






^ >.v • 


f'.‘« * 

A.- '- H 



> • . • 




. < f.. 


" - J *0^ • J • 




j>r» - 






•k a 


-* / « 


V -V 






- - V'k 

. - - J;rf2 


*.4-. - 


-V-»J 




M 

Vv';;,.) 

•<» » »♦ .: • 




Sf* 








»V 


^ . 



• s 


' Vhi^ 

*- — »> • 


'•i' 
.• » 


. 

<' ' > 


v;^>: • . a . -. A 

. ' ^v" • 


> ;• 

' • *’ ’' ■ 


't ^ 


< - 


^ ^ ft ^ 


1*] 


7 ' V ‘if .: 

rv'.a.r 


I ^ 

■’._ •. * 


*»>■ * . • , 

jr7-: '• 


tV 


» f 


• 4# 

.V • f: 


• t . 

•' 


V . . . ^ 

•* i. •</ / .» 


•4* 


'4 « 

“T 


*«•?- »-■ 


■ / 

I 


' / • - # . ' ■ " 

.V •- ■*» 

■•• ^ .. •7=-C,' 




4. » 


k- V 


I ■ 


r» * V 


'• • 




• V 

* 

/' ■ 

. ,%'ft 


7 v; . 4 t/i v. ' 


^7 : ' ■^T'-'- 








•: '^: 


r' 4 • '/ . ' .i .'“ • 




^ " ■ cTt •■ ■ .' .1* 

^ • 1 » • / * r 


• J 

r w 


'■0^ 

m 


'Vf 

I 








. r 


IN PARK LANE. 


161 


Lord Hawkhurst motioned his guest to be seated, and 
sank down into a lounging-chair by the central table. 
The gaslight glowed softly through the shade fof the 
argand lamp. The windows were curtained. The earl 
unlocked a square coffer of bronze upon the table, and 
displayed a store of his favorite cigars. Extracting one, 
he pushed the coffer nearer Mr. Callender, who followed 
his example. An exquisite little bronze statuette of a 
London match-girl offered a supply of matches, and 
both cigars were presently alight, and the earl leaned 
back in his chair, grave and thoughtful, the incarnation 
of luxurious ease. Callender regarded his gigantic 
proportions, his red beard, his shaggy red brows and 
hair, for some minutes before speaking. 

Octavia seems to feel at home here already, my 
Lord,'' he observed, withdrawing his cigar from his 
mouth, and regarding its fiery tip contemplatively. “ I 
think she will be a success in society ; she's one of those 
showy, handsome creatures who attract men as a candle 
attracts moths. She was quite a belle at the German 
spas last summer. And yet, despite her social successes, 
she is one of those loving, gentle women who brighten a 
man's dull hours, make home happy, and are the ten- 
derest nurses in illness. She was telling me to-day, the 
dear child, that she looked upon you as her father, and 
that the love she would have felt for her own father, if 
he had lived, she now felt for you. She cannot forget 
that you were his chosen and intimate friend." 

The earl's face flushed up with pleasure, and he 
answered, in a gratified voice : 

I am glad to hear it. I prize the affection she has 
given me, and I assure you that I return it. I don't 
know much about women, but I reverence a good 
woman. I always felt a tenderness for my old friend 


162 


IN PARK LANE. 


Windsor’s daughter, and I am sure that she has inherited 
his noblest qualities. Her presence in my house will 
make my age less dreary than I had anticipated.” 

Your age, my Lord ! Why, you are only fifty, and 
as hale and vigorous as most men at five-and-twenty ! 
You are in the prime of your intellect, strength and 
health. There’s many a noble lady — many a high-born 
girl, in her teens — who would gladly devote her life to 
you as your wife. With your wealth you can contract 
any alliance short of one with royalty — although nowa- 
days there seems to be no bar against even that. 
Octavia’s affection will be set aside in time, perhaps, by 
a warmer love. At your age a man does not relinquish 
thoughts of marriage.” 

I relinquished thoughts of that nature many years 
ago,” said the earl, frowning, his manner chilling. ** I 
shall never marry again, and I beg you never to allude 
to the subject again, Callender. My life looks to you 
successful. I am a noted statesman ; I have great 
political influence ; men fawn upon me ; I have vast 
riches, houses and lands ; I have a tenantry over whom 
I reign with more of power than belongs to many a petty 
German prince ; and yet I am not happy. The worm 
‘ remorse ’ is always gnawing at my heart. I have done 
that for which I could weep tears of blood. And I am 
going down to my grave childless, with no heir of my 
body to all my wealth, or to. the name to which I have 
added luster — no child to weep for me when I am gone. 
I should like to have been a link in the great chain of 
Hawkhursts, to have had a child of my own to succeed 
me. Sometimes I think of what might have been if I 
had had a son or a daughter — a son to be proud of, to 
share my ambitions and hopes, to carry out my plans 


IN PARK LANE. 


163 


or a daughter to love me, to cling to me, to make my 
home happy.'* * 

He drew a heavier sigh, and his flushed cheeks paled. 
Callender had never seen the stern, rugged-faced earl in 
one of these moods, and could not well conceal his sur- 
prise. But he replied with apparent warm sympathy : 

‘‘These longings find gratification at last, my Lord. 
The son who will share your ambitions and carry out 
your plans is found in Rollyn Conyers. And the 
daughter who will love and cling to you is the daughter 
of your old friend Windsor.’* 

The earl bowed assent. 

“Conyers has carried out your wishes to the letter,” 
pursued Callender, “ having married the heiress of Crag- 
thorpe. I remember that you agreed to make him your 
heir — at least, to be more accurate, you declared an 
intention to that effect. Octavia’s hasty marriage pre- 
vented the possibility of securing her fortune to herself, 
and her revenues are spent as freely by her husband as 
by herself. As Conyers is to be the heir to your wealth 
as well as to your title, would it not be well to bestow 
upon him some fixed annual allowance, such as you 
would grant your son ?” 

Lord Hawkhurst aroused himself and assumed a more 
upright position. His eyes lost their remorseful sadness 
and resumed their usual glittering keenness. He put 
from him in an instant all vestige of emotion, and was 
again the cool, hard-headed, polite and self-possessed 
man of the world. 

“ Conyers has an income of his own that ought to suf- 
fice for his support,” he said. “ He has only himself to 
provide for, you know, Callender. Octavia’s income 
shall be set apart for her own use, although it is too late 


164 


IN PARK LANE. 


now to effect a settlement of it upon her in due form of 
law.” 

Callender, realizing upon how slight tenure his niece 
held her income, knowing how soon the larger portion 
would be wrested from her, said hastily: 

Conyers has but eight hundred a year. He will 
belong to a club, he will keep a thoroughbred for a park 
hack, he will have hunters in the country, he will keep a 
yacht — all young men of his rank do these things — and 
his mcome is frightfully inadequate to such great 
demands. You will, I trust, live many years yet. You 
come of a long-lived race, and will doubtless live to be 
ninety years of age. During the next forty years, then, 
shall Conyers deny himself the pleasures of young men 
of his rank and expectations, or shall he live upon his 
wife ? Shall she pay for his pleasures, educate their 
children, and spend her own money in the thousand and 
one ways necessary to the conduct of a household, and 
yet which properly her husband ought to provide for ?” 

Your remarks are just,” said Lord Hawkhurst. “ I 
had given thought to these things before. I will make no 
promises and come to no decision as to the allowance I 
will make Conyers until after I shall have seen my 
lawyer, but I will do something for him. I will see my 
lawyer to-morrow.” 

Callender’s eyes gleamed. So much gained ! 

“ Pardon me,” he said ; there is one thing more. 
The young people do not know that I am speaking to 
you in their behalf, but as the uncle and former guar- 
dian of my imprudent Octavia, it is my duty to speak 
still further. I told you that I hoped you would live to 
a great old age. I am sure that you will. With your 
magnificent vitality you can almost set disease and 
mortality at defiance ; and yet life is uncertain. You 


MRS. MAEGLE’s new LODGER. 165 

may die within a year. You declare an intention of 
making Conyers your heir. Forgive me if I seem 
intrusive or officious, while I am only anxious to secure 
the accomplishment of your own wishes. Why not 
make your will, my Lord, and so put it beyond the 
power of any accident to beggar this favorite young 
kinsman of yours ? Why not make your will without 
delay, and constitute the descendants of your old friend 
Windsor the inheritors of all your wealth ?” 

The earl looked startled, but not displeased. He 
dropped the stump of his cigar into the bronze ash- 
receiver after a thoughtful fashion, and finally said, in a 
decisive voice : 

“ You are right. Life is uncertain. I will attend to 
this matter at one. I will make my will to-morrow.'* 


CHAPTER XXII. 

MRS. MARGLE’s new LODGER. 

Beryl had discovered a clew to her mother's hidden 
history. She now knew that her mother, whose name 
lay under foulest reproach, and whose body was deemed 
unworthy to rest beside those of her kindred, had been 
known during that one brief year before Beryl's birth 
as Mrs. Gray, wife of Colonel Gray, of the Indian army, 
and had been the honored mistress of a villa in St. 
John’s Wood. 

The next day she proceeded to Brunswick Square, as 
usual : but Mrs. Ryan, having decided to spend the day 


1H6 


MKS. MAKGLE’s new LODGER. 


with her children at Sydenham, and not caring to bear 
the expenses of the governess, patronizingly granted her 
a holiday. 

Beryl walked homeward with fleet steps, rejoicing in 
her unwonted freedom. She halted at a large book- 
shop in Oxford street, and requested to be allowed to 
look over an army-list. The request was granted, and 
she turned over the book leaves with a trembling hand. 
The name of Gray was found to be not uncommon, but 
there was no Colonel Gray belonging to an Indian regi- 
ment who could possibly have belonged to such a 
regiment seventeen years before. 

“ I should have one of the old army-lists of the date 
in question,” she thought. He may be dead now. 
His regiment may be no longer in India. He may have 
exchanged into a home regiment, or sold out his com- 
mission altogether. Or it may be that he was no colonel 
at all, and that his name was not Gray.” 

She spent the remainder of the morning in her own 
room alone. In the afternoon she procured a cab, and 
with Mrs. Margie, her landlady, drove to St. John's 
Wood, where the house in which her parents had lived 
was pointed out to her. It was a pretty and pictur- 
esque little villa, with a high brick wall separating it 
from the street. There was evidently a small garden or 
lawn in front of the house, but the wall hid this from 
view. A tall, narrow green door was set in the wall, 
and provided with a brass bell-pull. Upon the gate- 
posts, in gilt letters, was the name Brabazon Villa.” 

“ This is the house where I served a year as housekeeper 
to Mrs. Gray,” said Mrs. Margie, as the two, having 
alighted from the cab, walked slowly past the villa. 
‘‘That upper room to the right was the drawing-room. 
The upper room to the left is separated from the draw- 


MRS. MARGLE’s new LODGER. 


167 


ing-room by a narrow hall, and was Mrs. Gray's boudoir 
or sitting-room. Adjoining that was her dressing-room, 
and in the very rear, overlooking the garden, was her 
bed-room. She used to stand at those drawing-room 
windows up there and watch for the colonel’s coming. 
Ah, she worshiped him, poor, pretty Mrs. Gray, and 
she used to fly down the stairs when she saw him com- 
ing, and let him in herself at the garden-door, and they’d 
hug and kiss each other as if they had been separated a 
year.” 

Beryl stared at the house with wistful longing. In 
this little villa, then, her mother had spent this last year 
of her life. Beryl could almost imagine that she beheld 
at the upper window the tender, expectant young face 
that had so long been buried in an unhonored 
grave ; she almost fancied that she could hear the rush 
of flying feet on the stairs within the house ; that she 
could hear the fluttering of eager hands at the bolts of 
the garden-door. But her mother’s life had ended 
when her hers began ; the feet that had been swift to 
meet the loved one, the eager hands, the loving heart, 
were all moldered to dust. 

She lingered in a strange fascination about the gate, 
until Mrs. Margie, discovering that they were attracting 
attention, persuaded her to return to the cab, and they 
drove slowly homeward. 

On reaching her lodgings. Beryl went to her own 
room, as usual. She had finished her frugal meal and 
lighted her student lamp, when her landlady knocked 
at the door and entered her presence. 

‘‘I have come up. Miss Star, to ask you to join our 
social circle this evening,” said Mrs. Margie. “ This is 
not an ordinary lodging-house, you know, and I have 
quite a number of select lodgers, so to speak. It has 


168 


MRS. MARGLE’s new LODGER. 


always been my custom to invite them into my draw- 
ing-room of an evening, and they bring their news- 
papers, their books, their sewing and what not, and 
spend a pleasant evening together. You see I am a 
lone widow, and I get and give happiness by assembling 
my lodgers together.’* 

‘‘I dread meeting strangers,” said Beryl, shrinkingly. 

But my lodgers are not strangers. They are very 
nice people too ; some of them have been with me 
for years,” urged Mrs. Margie. “ I have a piano — a 
very good one, if it is a little cracked — and some have 
boxes of dominoes, some have draughts and chessmen 
and other games. I have an elderly curate and his 
wife from the fourth pair front — their two sons are 
sheep-farmers in Australia. There’s a medical student, 
a lady music-teacher who is growing old, two thin 
maiden ladies, sisters, who are very genteel, and have 
noble connections, but a very spare income. And I 
liave a new lodger, a very handsome law-student, who 
only came to-day. I particularly want to make you 
acquainted with your fellow-lodgers, your life seems 
so lonely, and they will all be down-stairs this even- 
ing. Will you come ?” 

The invitation was so warmly given that Beryl 
accepted it. Mrs. Margie bade her come down earlv, 
and departed. 

Beryl made her toilet anew, half-repenting her con- 
cession. She put on a gray silk dress which she had 
last worn at her pensionnat, and pinned a blue ribbon 
below the lace frill at her throat. A soft fall of lace 
half covered her wrists. Her hair had been cut short 
during her illness, and now clung to her head in tiny 
rings. It was no longer flame-red in hue, the new, 
soft growth being darker and of a true red- bronze 


IN THE FOG. 


169 


tint. Her pale face was delicately fair, with no color 
save in the lips, and her vivid brown eyes glowed 
and burned like lamps. She looked her nature, frank, 
brave, impetuous, quick-tempered, but generous, sweet 
and truthful to the core. 

“ Not a sign of mourning about my dress, and not a 
thought of mourning in my heart, for my dead hus- 
band,'' she thought. How completely he has passed 
out of my life ! I think now that I should not care if I 
never knew more about him than I know now. ‘ Let 
the dead past bury its dead.' " 


CHAPTER XXIIL 

IN THE FOG. 

Beryl took up her lamp, and slowly descended the 
stairs to Mrs. Margie’s drawing-room. Her landlady met 
her at the door, took her lamp from her, and led her into 
the room, where the lodgers were all gathered about 
the fire. Then followed introductions to the two 
maiden sisters of high connections and meager income. 
The elderly music-mistress, and the medical student 
who wore spectacles and spoke with a German accent, 
were made acquainted with Miss Star, and the new 
lodger, the law student, then emerged from behind his 
newspaper at the further end of the table, and was for- 
mally presented to Miss Star. 

One look at his fair, high-bred, handsome face with 
its indolent air was enough for Beryl. She recognized 
him as her rescuer of Regent street, Noble Desmond, 


170 


IN THE FOG. 


and greeted him with a warm smile and at the same 
time with a perplexed expression, as wondering how he 
had chanced to become an inmate of the same house with 
herself. He did not take pains to enlighten her. 

The acquaintance between Noble Desmond and Beryl 
Star grew rapidly and prospered. They met every 
evening in Mrs. Margie's shabby-genteel drawing-room, 
in company with their fellow-lodgers. 

The month of January was cold, wet and foggy. 
Beryl was obliged to walk to and from Brunswick 
Square in all weathers. Her food was insufficient, 
being necessarily of the cheapest and most meager 
description. 

One morning, during the last week of January, Beryl, 
attired for her usual walk to Brunswick Square, came 
down into Mrs. Margie's front basement, and begged a 
few minutes' interview with her. The landlady was alone, 
engaged in darning a well-worn table-cloth, a pair of 
spectacles astride her nose. She begged Beryl to be 
seated, and the girl complied. 

“I can stay but a few moments, Mrs. Margie," she 
said. “ I must not be late at Brunswick Square. I 
wish to give up my room here as soon as you can find 
another tenant for it." 

Mrs. Margie looked amazed. Beryl stated her sad 
plight which will be revealed as the narrative goes on. 

Noble Desmond entered the drawing-room in the 
evening. 

‘‘ Good evening, Mrs. Margie," he said, courteously, 
sweeping a rapid glance about the room. “ I am the 
first to appear, I see." 

“ Almost everyone in the house has a cold," said Mrs. 
Margie. “ Influenza, I notice, is apt to run through a 


IN THE FOG. 


171 


house when it once gets started. This is bad weather, 
sir.” 

” The fog is very thick,” said Desmond. It is hardly 
safe for a person to be out in it. There was an accident 
as I came through Oxford street an hour ago. A cab 
ran over an old man injuring him severely.” 

Mrs. Margie looked alarmed. 

Perhaps an accident has happened to Miss Star,” she 
exclaimed. What if she has been run over ! She 
should have been home two hours ago. I never knew 
her to be out so late as this. I know something has 
happened to her.” 

” Is not Miss Star in yet ? Are you very sure ?” 

** Yes, I’m sure. I’ve been watching for her an hour 
at this very window. I’ve been troubled in my mind 
about her all day, and now perhaps she’s beyond all 
trouble,” said Mrs. Margie, nervously. Or she may be 
in a ’ospittle dying ! She wasn’t fit to go out to-day, poor 
young lady ! And I blame myself that I didn’t offer her 
a bit of mutton before she went. If she’s dead, I shall 
feel as if I had had a hand in murdering her, for I knew 
that she was overworked and starved, and not fit to go 
out of this house to-day.” 

Desmond was shocked. His face grew pale. 

Do you think she was not well this morning when 
she went out ?” he asked. 

I know she was not. She came to me and says she : 
‘ Mrs. Margie, can’t you give me an attic ; for,’ says she, 
‘ I can’t afford to keep my room no longer,’ says she. 
She gets only twenty shillings a week for her whole 
time from daylight till dark, as you may say, and she’s 
been paying out more than three-fourths of that for a 
room, and that’s the truth, sir, light and fires thrown in, 
of course. She’s been living on fourpence a day, or 


172 


IN THE FOG. 


thereabouts, for these many weeks, and working even- 
ings at embroidery that she has not been able to sell. 
She has a hard struggle with life, Mr. Desmond, and all 
the friends she has in this world are in this house. How 
many young ladies of seventeen would be so bright and 
brave as she always is in her circumstances ?” 

I had not dreamed that her life was so hard,” said 
Desmond. She is always so cheerful !” 

Miss Star is a lady born and bred, with delicate 
tastes, fond of her books and quiet, and wants a room all 
to herself. Rough people around her, a foul-smelling 
house and street, and dirt and swearing, them would all 
be real troubles to her. She’d rather starve here than 
live in plenty in St. Giles’s. She wants to hire my front 
attic, and I have decided to let her have it at five shil- 
lings per week, though its no place for the likes of 
her. I’ll fix the attic up comfortable, and allow her the 
use of my drawing-room — poor thing ! — and for the 
rest she’ll have to do as other poor gentlewomen do, I 
suppose. I wish she were here,” she added, her uneasi- 
ness increasing. 

I will go to look for her. She may be glad of a pilot 
through this thick fog.” 

He did not stop to explain that he knew the route by 
which Beryl made her daily journeyings to and from 
Brunswick Square, but he had followed the young girl 
afar off on her return home after her day’s duties many 
times, watching over her safety, himself unseen by her. 
He hastened now in search of her, unheeding Mrs. Mar- 
gie. His hat was in the hall. He caught it up, thrust 
it on his head and hurried out into the street. 

The fog seemed to have grown thicker, and the damp, 
chill air seemed to penetrate to Desmond’s bones. He 
drew up his coat-collar for extra protection, and hurried 


IN THE FOG. 


173 


into Oxford street, and thence into Tottenham Court 
Road, proceeding slowly to Bedford Square, which he 
crossed. He traversed Montague Place and Russell 
Square, still keeping a vigilant lookout through the 
gloom, and entered upon Guilford street. He had 
walked but a few yards upon this street when he came 
suddenly upon Beryl, who was walking very wearily and 
slowly. He passed her before becoming perfectly 
assured of her identity, and then turned with a great 
sigh of relief and addressed her. 

Is it Miss Star ?*' he asked, walking beside her. 
“ Mrs. Margie was very anxious about you, and I came 
to meet you.*' 

You are very kind, Mr. Desmond,” said Beryl, recog- 
nizing him by his voice rather than by his face. “ I am 
sorry to have caused Mrs. Margie any anxiety. Mrs. 
Ryan detained me later than usual to-day to write the 
invitations to a party which she is to give. I am very 
tired.” 

Desmond drew Beryl’s arm in his with an air of quiet 
authority and ownership that thrilled her with a keen 
and sudden pain. 

‘‘ Lean upon me,” he said gently. “ How you trem- 
ble ! Did you have your dinner at Mrs. Ryan’s ?” 

Oh, no. I have but just finished my work. It is not 
in the line of my regular duties, but if I had declined to 
do it I should have lost my situation.” 

But you received pay for this additional work, of 
course ?” 

“ No. Mrs. Ryan said that I was not to expect extra 
pay for so slight extra service.” 

Desmond glowed with an indignation to which he did 
not give expression. He said, quietly : 


174 


IN THE FOG. 


Your life seems very hard, Miss Star. I wonder you 
keep up courage so well.*' 

I have much to be thankful for. My life is not 
without its objects, Mr. Desmond. I am learning to be 
content.’* 

Yet, even as she spoke. Beryl tottered with a sudden 
faintness, and clung to Desmond’s arm to keep herself 
from falling. They were in Russell Square now and 
under a gas-lamp. Desmond saw in the pale glow- 
worm sort of light that she was deathly pale. His soul 
yearned over her in a passionate love and tenderness, a 
deep and ineffable anxiety. 

Do you feel very ill ?” he asked. 

It is but a momentary weakness. I have not been 
well all day. I was weak and dizzy while at work. I 
shall be all right directly.” 

They moved on very slowly. Desmond looked 
sharply through the fog for a cab, but he could see 
none, nor could he hear one, except far off. 

‘‘You work too hard, Beryl,” he said, with a tender- 
ness that made her start and tremble. “ This life of 
struggling and toiling is too much for you. How would 
you like to turn your back upon it all, upon Mrs. Ryan, 
her children, even your lonely room at Mrs. Margie’s, 
and be the happy queen of a sunny little cottage home, 
the absolute mistress of a small domain, where you 
should be loved and honored and cherished ?” 

“ No happiness like that can ever come to me,” said 
Beryl, sorrowfully. 

“ We have not known each other many w’eeks,” said 
Desmond, drawing her arm yet closer within his, “ yet 
we know each other well. You know that I am soon to 
be admitted to the bar. My income from my profes- 
sion may be very small for years to come, but I have a 


IN THE FOG. 


175 


fixed income of two hundred pounds a year. I know 
that you are alone in the world. I love you, Beryl. I 
have loved you from the first day I saw you. 1 cannot 
offer you the wealth which you would grace, but I can 
offer you a loving heart, the devotion of my whole 
future life, and the sunny little home I have pictured. 
Beryl — Beryl, darling, will you be my wife ?” 

The girl’s /hand fluttered in his like a prisoned bird. 
She drew it away, with a low, moaning cry. 

“ No, no !” she murmured. “ I cannot. Oh, Mr. 
Desmond, you have offered me heaven — and I must 
refuse it.” 

He caught her hand in his firm, strong grasp, and 
held it closely. He made her lean again upon him, 
while he asked : 

“ Do you dislike me. Beryl ?” 

‘‘ Oh, no, no !” 

‘‘ Could you not learn to love me ?” he whispered. 

She was silent. He pressed the question gently, and 
with an infinite tenderness that would have won to him 
the heart of an enemy. 

“Yes,” she said, at last, in a quavering whisper. 
“ Oh, Noble ! I love you now.” 

There was a silence of a few moments between them. 
They walked on through the thick fog, entering Totten- 
ham Court Road, and moving very slowly. They met 
very few people, and seemed as much alone upon the 
London street as if they had been in a wilderness. 

“ How soon may I claim my little wife ?” asked Des- 
mond, at last, in a voice whose happiness smote upon 
Beryl like a blow. 

“ Not at all — never !” she answered, in a low, misera- 
ble voice. “ Oh, Noble ! it cannot be. I must go my 


176 


IN THE FOG. 


own way. You will forget your fancy for me by and 
by. I shall never marry/' 

“ You do not know me so well as I thought," said 
Desmond. “You call my love for you a ‘fancy.' You 
think me effeminate, indolent, careless. I seem so, I 
grant, but surely you know. Beryl, that seeming is not 
being. I have a strong, passionate nature. My love for 
you is the one love of my life. You say that you love 
me. Then I defy the world to part us. I certainly shall 
not heed your refusal of me, my poor, bewildered little 
girl. You belong to me by right of your love for me. 
Remember that always. And by that right I intend to 
marry you immediately and take care of you." 

Beryl uttered a low, choking sob. 

“You don’t understand me. Noble. I would not 
burden you with a poor wife, but it is not my poverty 
that makes me refuse the happiness you offer me. I am 
in earnest. I cannot marry you." 

Desmond was not seriously disturbed by this declara- 
tion. She had avowed that she loved him. How long, 
then, should her quixotic scruples weigh against his 
pleadings? He held her closer to him as they walked 
slowly on, still with an air of ownership in her, a quiet 
authority, a tender care of her, that were as delightful as 
painful to her. 

“ At least, Beryl," he said, and she knew that he was 
smiling, “you will give me a chance to combat your 
arguments against our marriage. Is there anything 
about me that you object to ?" 

“ The fault is in myself," said Beryl, desperately. 
“ You have a right to know my reasons, and I will tell 
you, even though they make you hate me. You are a 
gentleman, and gentlemen think so much of good birth. 
And I — I am not well-born.’' 


IN THE FOG. 


177 


“Is that all?” asked Desmond. “You are making a 
mountain out of a molehill, darling. It is you whom I 
love, not your genealogical tree. That objection won’t 
weigh for an instant.” 

She had expected that he would draw back from her ; 
but his tenderness had not varied, his support of her 
had not wavered. She remembered how Dane Conyers 
had received the story of her birth, and contrasted Des- 
mond’s generosity with the terrible wrath of her yonng 
husband. 

“ You see,” said Desmond, “ that you are not to be 
rid of me so easily, little Beryl. I love you, and I shall 
not let you go from me. You are alone in the world. 
You must come to me at once, and brighten my life, and 
let me take care of you. I am going to speak to Mrs. 
Margie about our engagement this very night, if you 
will permit me. To-morrow I shall procure a special 
license, and I shall take you to church the day after. 
Here we are at Wells’ street. Tell me, darling, that I 
am to have my own way in this matter.” 

They turned out of Oxford street while he was 
speaking. 

“ Give me a little time to think,” said Beryl, trem- 
bling. “ I will give you an answer to-night.” 

They concluded the walk in silence. As they passed 
into the house and the light of the hall-lamp fell full 
upon the girl, Desmond noticed that she looked 
strangely wan and pallid, and that her brown eyes had 
a look in them that was almost wild. They went up 
the stairs together. He would have spoken further with 
her, but there was no longer opportunity. Mrs. Margie 
looked out upon them curiously, and he passed into the 
drawing-room. Beryl climbed up to her own room. 

Her light was burning dimly. The fire glowed in her 


178 


OCTAVIA MAKES AN ENEMY. 


grate. She locked her door, and crossing the room, 
knelt upon her hearth-rug, pale and miserable, her head 
bowed low upon a chair. 

She knelt thus for a long time, shivering now and then 
as with a chill. She lived over again the events of that 
evening. The passionate tenderness, the masterful will, 
the earnest love of Desmond, were all reviewed with an 
anguish that transcended any she had ever known. 

‘‘If I had only known him a few months ago !” she 
said to herself. “ I love him — I love him ! ‘ The sins of 

the parents shall be visited upon the children,' and I 
have all that inherited disgrace to bear. I am not fit to 
be any man's wife. Noble Desmond must know all the 
truth." 

She arose, laid aside her damp outer garments, and 
brought out her writing materials, and sat down at her 
table to write out as well and briefly as she could the 
sad story of her life. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

OCTAVIA MAKES AN ENEMY. 

Upon the day subsequent to his interview with Mr. 
Callender in the smoking-room of the Park Lane house, 
Lord Hawkhurst paid a private visit to his lawyer and 
informed him that he was about to make his will, and 
desired drafts to be drawn up enumerating his various 
estates and properties, and devising certain annuities to 
faithful servants, as according to a brief schedule which 
the earl had previously prepared. His lordship did not 


OCTAVIA MAKES AN ENEMY. 


1T9 


mention the name of his destined heir, but asked his 
legal adviser to come to him upon the evening of the 
next day with the document ready for signature. 

At the appointed time, the lawyer presented himself 
at Hawkhurst House, and was ushered into the library, 
where the earl waited to receive him. 

** Good evening, Sherwald," said Lord Hawkhurst, 
coming forward with extended hand. “You are 
punctual.'' 

The lawyer shook hands with his employer, and 
paused before the fire. The long table, upon which 
stood an Argand gas-lamp, was littered with papers. 
The earl had been writing. His safe-door stood open. 

“You find me ready for business, Sherwald," said the 
earl, with a glance at the table. “ I have been looking 
over my papers. I am richer than ! thought. Property 
accumulates fast when the income is so large and there 
is but one to spend it." 

“You are all alone, I see, my Lord," said the lawyer. 

“Yes. My young kinsman, Rollyn Conyers, is gone 
out to visit a friend. His wife is in the drawing-room, 
awaiting certain fashionable calls. Mrs. Conyers is mis- 
tress of my house, and she does the honors creditably, I 
assure you," said the earl, moving toward the table. “ I 
regard her almost as my daughter." 

There was a faint rustle in the music-room, which 
adjoined the library. There was no light in the music- 
room, but, crouching there in the darkness, close beside 
the communicating door, was a darker shadow among 
shadows — the figure of Octavia Conyers. 

“ I have brought the draft of the will, as you ordered, 
my Lord," said Sherwald, drawing from his pocket a 
thick document tied with red tape. “ You will find it 
perfectly correct. The smaller legacies are all mentioned, 


180 


OCTAVIA MAKES AN ENEMY. 


with the names of the legatees. The body of the will 
is also precisely as you ordered. It only remains to 
write in the name of your destined heir, and to append 
your own signature, with those of the witnesses.'* 

“ Very good,” said the earl. Be seated^ Sherwald. 
Now read me the will.’* 

Lord Hawkhurst flung himself into a chair, and his 
white, large hand caressed his shaggy red beard, and his 
eyes glowered under his overhanging brows, as he bent 
his gaze upon his solicitor. 

Mr. Sherwald took up the will and read it slowly, 
repeating sentences here and there, as directed by his 
patron. Octavia’s eyes glowed in her dark covert as she 
listened to the enumeration of estates and valuable 
belongings. 

“I have not made mention of my young kinsman, 
Noble Desmond,” said the earl, thoughtfully. ** He is a 
noble fellow, but pig-headed, you know ; wants his own 
way, and is a man to get it. He is an effeminate sort of 
fellow in seeming, but he’s got the Desmond blood. He 
has a hand of iron under his velvet glove. He is sure 
to make his mark, and will have plenty of money of his 
own some day, for he has brains to earn it. He offended 
me lately while at Hawks* Cliff, and I parted from him 
in anger, yet he compels my respect, and I’d like to 
leave him a thousand a year. He’s a mere beggar 
now.” 

He is not to be your heir, then, my Lord ?” 

No. Rollyn Conyers is to inherit che most of my 
property. He has sowed his wild oats. So much the 
better. His marriage will steady him,” said the earl. 
‘‘ Give me the papers, Sherwald. We will make the 
provision for Desmond, and I will then sign the docu- 
ment in the presence of witnesses.” 


OCTAYIA MAKES AN ENEMY. 


181 


The addition to the will was made. Lord Hawkhurst 
read the document over very slowly, weighing every 
sentence with the most scrupulous care. More than an 
hour thus passed, yet all this while Octavia Conyers 
scarcely stirred in her shadowy covert, and hushed her 
very breathing that she might not lose a word uttered 
in the library. At last the reading was finished, the 
document was found to be satisfactory'to the earl, and 
his lordship rung his bell and commanded the presence 
of his butler, house-steward and housekeeper. 

In the presence of these old family servants, the earl 
wrote and avowed his signature, and the three appended 
their names as witnesses, and were dismissed. 

‘‘That’s over !” said Lord Hawkhurst, with a sigh, as 
he found himself alone with his solicitor. “ I wish I 
might have had a son or a daughter to come after me, 
Sherwald, but such happiness was not for me. Take 
the will away with you, Sherwald. Keep it in your 
office in some private drawer. It may be years before it 
will be called for.” 

“ It is not likely to be called for in my time, my 
Lord,” said the lawyer, cheerfully. 

There was some further conversation between the two, 
and Mr. Sherwald finally took his leave. 

Lord Hawkhurst sat down at his table and busied 
himself with his private papers. Octavia Conyers stole 
softly from her concealment, crossed the floor of the 
music-room noiselessly, and opened the door leading 
into the hall. She peered out cautiously to ascertain if 
the coast were clear for her retreat. 

And as she did so, her gaze encountered that of the 
lawyer, whom she believed to have left the house. Mr. 
Sherwald had indeed departed from the house, but 
remembering some point of business he had omitted 


182 


OCTAVIA MAKES AN ENEMY. 


to discuss with Lord Hawkhurst, had immediately 
returned. He was approaching the door of the library 
when he beheld the door of the music-room move softly 
ajar, and had seen Mrs. Conyers protrude her head after 
a peering, cautious fashion. 

Her paling face at sight of him, her frightened eyes, 
her look of consternation and terror, all betrayed her. 

The lawyer was a quiet sort of man, averse to scenes, 
despite his profession ; but he came swiftly along the 
marble-floored corridor to the very door of the music- 
room. Octavia stood there trembling, her presence of 
mind utterly lacking. He looked beyond her into the 
room behind her, and saw that it was dark. Then his 
gaze returned to her, and she shrank a little before the 
keen scorn in his eyes. She was dressed in some gauzy 
tissue of a golden hue, and wore topaz ornaments in her 
ears, and on her bared throat. Her hair was dressed 
high in the most fashionable manner, and her usual 
short fringe of black hair, finely crimped, hung over her 
forehead, after the English nursery style. Her dress 
declared her social position. It was Mr. Sherwald’s 
principle never to be astonished at anything that might 
happen ; but he certainly violated that principle now. 

“ I have the honor of addressing Mrs. Conyers, have I 
not ?” he asked politely, bowing. 

Yes, I am Mrs. Conyers,*' said Octavia, struggling 
to regain her self-possession. I just came into the 
music-room to look for a piece of music, but the lights 
are out and I can’t find it. Who are you, sir ?” 

Mr. Sherwald smiled at the flimsiness of her excuse. 
The manner in which she had peered out at the door 
was sufficient proof of her guilt. There was still a look 
of terror in her eyes, and her face was curiously pale 


A LETTER AND ITS ANSWER. 


183 


and anxious, despite her efforts to appear calm and 
unconcerned. 

“ I am Mr. Sherwald, Lord Hawkhurst’s solicitor, 
madam,*' he said, respectfully, yet with a look that 
assured her that he did not believe in her pretexts, but 
that he knew her, partially at least, in her true charac- 
ter. ‘‘ Pardon me for my seeming intrusiveness. Again 
I beg your pardon. Good evening.*' 

With a low bow, he returned to the entrance of the 
library, passed it, descended the stairs, and again quitted 
the house. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

A LETTER AND ITS ANSWER. 

It was a task, indeed,, that upon which Beryl had 
entered. She began again and again her fateful letter 
to Noble Desmond, but flung page after page upon the 
fire. 

After considerable effort, she produced the following 
letter : 

“ Noble Desmond, Esq. — Dear Sir : I have promised 
to give you an answer this evening to the question you 
asked me only an hour or two ago. Had I answered it 
in the negative at the time, I should have spared you 
and myself much pain, but now that I have confessed to 
you that I love you I can only tell you the whole miser- 
able truth. I do love you as I never loved any one 


184 


A LETTER AND ITS ANSWER. 


before; I love you with all my heart and soul ; I shall 
love you till I die. 

“ But I can never be your wife — never ! I can never 
be more to you than I am now, and after you shall have 
read this letter, I know I must be infinitely less. I have 
not intended to deceive you, nor any one. I had not 
dreamed that any one would ever feel a special interest 
in me. Yet none the less you will regard me as an 
impostor when you know all. I shrink from the telling, 
yet hasten to plunge into my story before I lose my 
courage. 

I am not well-born. My cheeks burn while I write 
these words, which I could never say to your face. My 
mother was the daughter of a gentleman-farmer, of a 
good old yeoman family. She was innocent and pure — 
oh, I know she was ! Not all her brother's curses upon 
her memory, not the fact that her father died on her 
account broken-hearted, and not even that she lies in 
an unhonored grave under a stone bearing her maiden 
name, can make me lose faith in my poor young mother, 
whose face I never saw — who died in giving me birth. 
She believed herself an honest wife — that I know from 
my own heart. God pity him who was my father ! 

I was brought up in a boarding-school at Vevay. 
My life was lonely and desolate. My physical wants 
were all cared for, but I was never loved and caressed. 
Think of it. No home but a crowded school, no 
mother, no one to take an especial interest in me, no 
love except school-girl affection. When, last June, I 
had a lover, can you wonder that I fancied I loved him, 
and that I consented to marry him ? But it was not 
love I had for him. I was flattered, pleased, but my 
heart was not touched. Had I loved him I think I 
should have died long before this. 


A LETTER AND ITS ANSWER. 


185 


“ I am not Miss Star. I am a widow. As I do not 
know my name by right of birth, so I do not know my 
husband’s name. I think by some strange fatality that 
my life must resemble my mother’s. My husband is 
dead. I have stood by his grave — a grave not made with 
hands — in a crevice of the distant Alps, and talked with 
his servant who witnessed his death, and with the guides 
who would not venture to rescue his mangled body. I 
have heard it said that, as he did not marry me under 
his true name, I was no wife. I have heard idle tongues 
say that he had a wife before he saw me, but Ido not 
• believe this. He really loved me for a while, but he 
discovered that I was base-born and poor, and had he 
not died he would have abandoned me or procured a 
divorce from me, I am very sure. 

I enclose you a notice of his death, which I cut out 
of a Geneva paper. I have been not yet four months a 
widow. 

I shall go away to-morrow to cheaper lodgings. 
We need never meet again, and it would be better so. 
Spare me the pain of seeing you. Some are born to 
suffer. I am one of those. Believe me, I am grateful 
to you for all your kindness to me. Some day you will 
love and marry a noble lady who will do you honor, 
but from this hour must drop out of your life and heart 
the nameless girl who calls herself 

Beryl Star.” 

This letter did not satisfy Beryl ; it seemed so feeble, 
when her mind and heart were wrought up to such 
intensity of feeling, but she could not re-write it. She 
brought out from her trunk the Geneva newspaper 
announcing the death of Dane Conyers as that of Vane 


186 


CONYERS FOLLOWS OCTAVIA’s EXAMPLE. 


Conroy,’' cut out the notice and inclosed it in the letter, 
which she then enveloped, sealed and addressed. 

With the letter in her hand, she stole out upon the 
landing, down a flight of stairs to the third-floor, and 
to the door of Desmond’s sitting-room. She thrust the 
letter under the door, and flitted back up-stairs to her 
own room. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

CONYERS FOLLOWS OCTAVIA’s EXAMPLE. 

Greatly perturbed at having been discovered eaves- 
dropping, Octavia Conyers entered her boudoir. 
Resting one arm upon the mantel-piece, she drooped 
her head upon it with a long, troubled sigh. 

‘‘ You are very melodramatic. Are you practicing for 
the stage ?” inquired a voice which she recognized as 
that of her uncle, in a tone of pleasant mockery. 

Octavia looked up quickly. Mr. Callender was sitting 
in a large easy-chair just out of the circle of light, and 
regarding her with a look of quiet intentness. 

You here ?” she asked, in surprise. 

Yes, I am here. You did not expect to find me in 
your room, perhaps ? The porter told me you were not 
at home, but I ventured to doubt his word, and pushed 
on to the drawing-room. Not finding you there, I came 
on to your private apartments, and concluded to wait 
here for you. Is Conyers gone out ?” 


CONYERS FOLLOWS OCTAVIA^S EXAMPLE. 


187 


“ Yes. He has gone to his club : at least, he said he 
was going there. I haven’t seen him since dinner.” 

“I came upon business.” 

There was a brief silence, Octavia feeling reluctant to 
question him further. 

In their preoccupation of mind, neither Octavia nor 
Mr. Callender heard or heeded the sound of light foot- 
steps on the stair and along the corridor, nor the open- 
ing of the door of Octavia’s dressing-room, which 
adjoined the boudoir. Dane Conyers had gone out 
after dinner, but had returned upon some errand of his 
own, which had no reference to his wife. On entering 
the house, however, he had learned from the hall-porter 
that Mr. Callender was gone up-stairs, and he had looked 
into the drawing-room, finding it unoccupied. 

He knew then that his wife's uncle was in Octavia’s 
private apartments. He leaped to the conclusion that 
the interview between uncle and niece must, therefore, 
necessarily be upon private affairs. He remembered the 
letter which Octavia had crumpled up upon a previous 
occasion, when he had come upon the two together in 
his wife’s boudoir, and which Octavia had given back 
into the keeping of Mr. Callender. Conyers had been 
full of vague suspicions then, believing that his wife and 
her uncle were conspiring against his interests. Now 
his dark cheeks flushed with an angry glow, and he 
experienced no more scruples against eavesdropping than 
had Octavia at an earlier hour of the same evening. 
Exquisitely selfish, and not troubled with a nice sense 
of honor, he crept up the stair, crossed the corridor, and 
slipped into Octavia’s dressing-room. He had not 
thought of the maid until he entered the room, but the 
French woman was gone below. He noiselessly turned 
the key in the lock, and glided through the circle of 


188 


CONYERS FOLLOWS OCTAVIa’s EXAMPLE. 


light thrown out by the fire, to the shadows that lurked 
about the door which communicated with the boudoir. 

At one side of this door, upon a tall black marble 
pedestal, stood an exquisite life-size marble statue of an 
Eastern dancing-girl. The figure was poised as if in 
the act of dancing. The bare arms were upraised 
above the head, and the hands held some musical 
instrument resembling the tambourine. To Dane Con- 
yers, at this moment, this statue represented a desirable 
screen for his person. He passed behind it, and stood, 
himself as moveless as a statue, close to the door lead- 
ing into the boudoir, and bending his head, he listened 
to the conversation between his wife and her uncle. 

“ I am sick of that word ‘ business,’ ” said Octavia, 
petulantly. ‘‘My nerves are completely upset this 
evening. I have had a serious fright, and I am trem- 
bling yet.” 

“Ah! Has Lord Hawkhurst made his will yet? 
He promised to do so yesterday.” 

“His will is made,” replied Octavia. “The lawyer 
came this evening. I — I happened to be in the music- 
room when the lawyer was shown in the library, and I 
heard each of them read the will aloud. I also saw 
Lord Hawkhurst sign the will in the presence of the 
housekeeper, butler and steward.” 

“You are a deuced clever woman, Octavia,” said Mr. 
Callender, admiringly. “Were the terms satisfactory?” 

“Very. He devised legacies to various servants, and 
an annuity of a thousand pounds a year to that stiff- 
necked Noble Desmond. The entire property, with 
these trifling exceptions, is bequeathed to Rollyn 
Conyers.” 

“ And you have allowed anything to annoy you after 
learning that you are to be in truth the mistress of all 


CONYERS FOLLOWS OCTAVIA S EXAMPLE. 


189 


the earl’s estates?” cried Callender. “Women are puz- 
zles. I should think you would be wild with delight. 
Here are all our schemes prospering. Conyers is to be 
the earl’s heir, and your future is secured beyond all 
possibility of trouble or annoyance.” 

“Yes, if the earl could die to-night !” said Octavia, 
gloomily. “I wish he would die to-night !” 

“You fear that he will not believe your protestations 
a month or two hence — ” 

“ I fear that to-morrow morning he will tear up his 
will like so much waste paper,” interrupted Octavia, 
with sullen vehemence, her cheeks glowing redly. She 
proceeded to tell the story of her discovery by Sherwald. 
She concluded with : 

“ I know that Sherwald intends to see the earl in the 
morning and tell that he found me eavesdropping. The 
earl hates a dishonorable action as he hates poison. 
He will send me away, he will destroy his will, and per- 
haps make Desmond his heir. I say again, I wish he 
would die to-night !” 

“ I hope he will not,” said Mr. Callender, quietly, 
“else this shrewd lawyer might accuse you of killing 
him. Your alarm is unnecessary, Octavia. The lawyer 
did not see the earl to-night. Therein lay his mistake. 
You must see his lordship before you sleep. You can 
go to the library, you know, if he should not come to 
the drawing-room. A woman of your cleverness need 
not be told how to conduct a matter like this. A pretty 
affectation of fright or grief, a few tears will set all 
right. You have only to say that you went to the 
music-room for a sheet of music, but there being no 
light you turned to go out and found yourself con- 
fronted by this lawyer, and you were too frightened at 
his sudden and unexpected appearance to excuse your- 


190 


CONYERS FOLLOWS OCTAVIa’s EXAMPLE. 


self properly under his suspicious questionings. That 
explanation — if I know the chivalrous earl — will make 
him angry against the lawyer instead of against you.” 

Octavia’s face began to brighten. 

“ I can manage it,” she said, provided Hawkhurst 
doesn't inquire why there was no light in the music- 
room. The gas was lighted in there as usual, but I 
turned it off before the lawyer came.” 

Hawkhurst won’t think to ask that. If he should, 
you can profess ignorance, and he will think one of the 
servants did it under the impression that you were gone 
out. Don’t suggest that idea yourself. Best to deal in 
generalities. That trouble is easily disposed of. I wish 
that all our anxieties were as easily to be set at rest. 
I’ve had another letter from Canada !” 

Another letter? Why he seems to have a mania for 
writing. This makes the fourth letter you have received 
from hkn.” 

‘‘Yes. I have taken no notice of the other letters, but 
I cannot pass this one over in silence. He is still ill and 
will not start for Englan-d until May, but he wants me to 
send him two hundred pounds — not in his own name, he 
being ill and not able to go for it — but to an address 
which he gives. The address is that of the man, I think, 
in whose house he is, and of whom he speaks as a good 
Samaritan. This good Samaritan, it appears, owes a 
hundred pounds upon his farm, and our Don Quixote 
proposes to pay off the debt and stock the farm as a 
reward for the man’s kindness to him.” 

“ I wish the ‘good Samaritan’ had let him die,” said 
Octavia. “ Oh, if he had only died. Uncle Griff. ! I 
don’t see what business he had to reveal himself after 
being silent so long. The secret wears uppn me. What 
if Lord Hawkhurst or Rollyn were to suspect the truth 


CONYERS FOLLOWS OCTAVIA S EXAMPLE. 


191 


— that I am not the owner of Cragthorpe — that the true 
owner, who was supposed to be dead, is my uncle Wind- 
sor, and that he is alive and coming home in May !” 

Dane Conyers turned pale as these words reached 
his ears. For a moment he was strangely dizzy, dark- 
ness obscured his vision, and there was an odd rushing 
sound in his ears. He gasped for breath. He had 
thought that he had cleverly entrapped her — he now 
began to think that she had entrapped him, and a fierce 
consuming anger flamed up in his soul. 

Neither Lord Hawkhurst nor Conyers must ever sus- 
pect that you have known of your uncle Windsor’s exist- 
ence since before you first met Conyers,” said Mr. Cal- 
lender. I shall have to own to receiving Windsor’s 
letters, but I shall affirm that I never told you of their 
contents. You must seem to Hawkhurst and Conyers 
an innocent, truthful woman, incapable of doing wrong. 
To let them know that you deliberately set to work to 
entrap Conyers, that you led him on to that hasty 
marriage to avoid the dangers delay might bring, would 
be to ruin yourself.” 

“ Shall you send my uncle the money he demands ?” 

‘‘Of course. Is not Cragthorpe his? Is not the 
princely income you are spending his ? I shall send the 
money promptly, acknowledge the receipt of all his let- 
ters, tell him that I have not yet informed you of his 
continued existence, and that I purpose deferring the 
announcement until his actual arrival in England. I 
shall tell him of your marriage to the future Earl of 
Hawkhurst, and shall assure him that we shall be glad 
to welcome him home again. Do you wish to see his 
letter ? I have it here.” 

“ No, no. I have no wish to see it.” 

By this time Dane Conyers was master of himself. 


192 


CONYEKS FOLLOWS OCTAVIA’s EXAMPLE. 


He held in his anger wi;h a firm hand as one holds in 
hounds in a leash. His face grew set and stern in its 
expression. He stepped forth noiselessly from his con- 
cealment, turned the knob of the door in a silent swift- 
ness, and stalked into the boudoir. 

He paused just within the threshold, and looked at 
Octavia and Mr. Callender with a cold, sneering smile 
on his lips, and a keen, mocking light in his hard eyes. 

Octavia uttered a stifled shriek. Her uncle started, 
changed color, but maintained an outward composure. 

You are home early, my dear fellow,” said Mr. Cal- 
lender, endeavoring to speak easily. You keep country 
hours.” 

Don't trouble yourself about me, my good sir,” 
returned Conyers, insolently. ‘‘ I believe these are my 
apartments, and I have a right to return to them when- 
ever I please. It pleased me to return to them some 
time since — in very good time, too, since I have been a 
listener to nearly your entire conversation.” 

You have heard everything ? Then you know our 
innocent little secret, and there’s no need of explanations, 
Conyers,” said Mr. Callender, coolly. ^‘You’ll hardly 
venture to blazon the story to the world, or even to tell 
Lord Hawkhurst. So far as my limited views permit 
me to see into the case from your standpoint, I can’t 
see what you can do about it anyhow !” 

“ Your interests and mine are identical, Rollyn,” said 
Octavia, beginning to recover her assurance. If you 
expose me to Lord Hawkhurst, he will revenge himself 
upon you. A man is responsible for his wife’s short- 
comings. To declare to him that I am an impostor and 
no heiress, that he is to be balked in his design of unit- 
ing Cragthorpe to Hawks’ Cliff, that I am not the truth- 
ful woman he esteems me, will be to cut yourself off 


CONYERS FOLLOWS OCTAVIA^S EXAMPLE. 


193 


from all possibility of becoming his heir. All our 
hope now is in inheriting his money.'' 

‘‘You argue your case well," said Conyers, with a 
sneer. “ I have been cheated into this marriage — 
regularly entrapped by a pair of designing adventurers 
— I, who could, as Lord Hawkhurst’s heir, have made 
one of the best matches of the season ! You have 
played your cards well, Callender ; you have foisted 
your niece off upon me very cleverly. I admire the art 
with which you both have conducted the affair from the 
beginning. But Octavia is my acknowledged wife, and 
I must make the best of the matter. She’s well-born, at 
any rate. Lord Hawkhurst made it a condition with me 
that I should secure her as my wife, and I hope he’ll be 
pleased with the result of his maneuverings and Con- 
yers smiled sardonically. “ However, as he wanted me 
to marry her, and as I obeyed him, and as her uncle’s 
return is not her fault, he can’t go back on me." 

“Certainly not," said Callender, quickly. “He’s a 
testy, quick-tempered, blunderbuss sort of a man, ugly 
as a tiger when he's crossed, but as generous as the sun. 
He has a great deal of chivalry, believes in women, 
thinks them all angels, you know, and he's not going to 
be hard upon his old friend Windsor’s daughter because 
she has lost her fortune. He’ll come nobly to the front 
and bestow upon you both a handsome income, and you 
will live with him hereafter. But the truth must not be 
revealed to him until Windsor comes. The interim you 
can employ in strengthening your hold upon him, and 
making yourselves indispensable to him." 

Conyers did not choose yet to soften his manner 
toward Octavia or her uncle. He remained aloof, in 
the attitude of one who is injured, but he was disposed 
to make the best of these untoward circumstances. 


194 


CONYERS FOLLOWS OCTAYIA's EXAMPLE. 


There was but one course he could adopt with profit to 
himself, and that was to forget what he had just 
learned, and pursue the even tenor of his way as though 
nothing had occurred. But he must strive with double 
zeal to secure the Hawkhurst property. 

‘‘ It the earl should take umbrage, and destroy the 
will he has just made,*' said Octavia, disconsolately, 
Rollyn and I would make a fine earl and countess. 
How should we live on a thousand a year ? Somewhere 
on the Continent, I suppose, in semi-genteel luxury and 
wholly genteel poverty, with vin ordinaire instead of 
Johannisberger and Veuve Clicquot, with velveteen 
gowns instead of velvet, with a pony-chaise instead of 
carriages and horses in plenty. Lord Hawkhurst has 
got his will all made, and just to suit us. I wish 
he could die before my uncle Windsor returns from 
Canada." 

She looked boldly at her two companions, with an 
angry defiance of fate. Mr. Callender's eyes shot a 
quick answering gleam, and fixed themselves in a keen 
gaze upon Conyers, who looked from one pair of eyes to 
the other pair, bewildered, yet with a singular shrinking 
comprehension of their meaning. For a moment the 
three pairs of eyes spoke to each other plainer than 
words could speak, each gathering courage from the 
others. 

“ Octavia," said Mr. Callender, very quietly, “ go 
down, my dear, to the library and explain to Lord 
Hawkhurst the circumstances of your meeting with 
Sherwald. While you are gone, I will explain to Con- 
yers how it happened that your uncle Windsor was 
supposed to be dead, and how he happens to survive." 


jl white messenger. 


195 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

A WHITE MESSENGER. 

Desmond awaited Beryl's appearance in the drawing- 
room until ten o'clock. Some of the lodgers dropped 
in, after their usual custom, and he did not enlighten 
his landlady in regard to his engagement with Beryl. 
At last, despairing of Beryl's appearance that evening, 
and greatly troubled lest she should be ill or suffering, 
Desmond took up his lamp and went up to his room. 

She may have taken a chill," he thought, anxiously. 

She is alone up there, with no one to take care of her if 
she should be ill. This must all be changed. Poor, 
half-starved, lonely and sorrowful, yet sunny of heart 
and face, I shall not suffer her to live on in this manner. 
It is time she were taken care of." 

He opened his door and passed into his sitting- 
room. 

As he entered, his foot struck against Beryl's letter. 
He picked it up, locked the door, and sat down in his 
easy-chair with a pleased and happy smile. He knew 
from whom the letter had come, and kissed the address 
with a reverent, passionate tenderness, before he broke 
the seal. 

“ She has given me my answer to-night, as she prom- 
ised," he thought. ‘‘ The letter looks stained with 
tears." 

The newspaper scrap fell out. He read it first, keep- 
ing the precious letter to be dwelt upon and studied 


196 


A WHITE MESSEHGEE. 


later. But the printed item seemed to have no con- 
nection with Beryl, and he laid it aside, wondering. 

Then he read the letter — not once, but again and 
again. He studied the newspaper scrap in the light 
thus thrown upon it. It is needless to say that Beryl's 
revelation was very bitter to him. He could have sworn 
from her well-bred air, and gentle, unfailing courtesy, 
her half-haughty carriage, her proud patrician beauty, 
her regard for others* feelings, even those of the meanest 
servant, that she was of gentle birth, the child of long 
generations of culture and education. If her cheeks 
had burned in writing her letter, his burned in reading 
it, but burned in admiration of her bravery, her truth- 
fulness, her simple honesty. How easily she might have 
kept all this from him if she had wished ! But it was 
the latter part of the letter that hurt him most deeply. 
A widow at the age of seventeen — a widow when he had 
believed her a maiden — the widow of a man whose real 
name she said she did not know ! 

For an hour Desmond gave himself up to his thoughts, 
which we will not attempt to detail. It is enough to say 
that Beryl’s letter seemed to him full of bitterest pathos, 
and that he had not loved her half so well before. His 
soul overflowed with a passionate tenderness for her. 
He was a proud man, but his pride was an honorable 
and elevating principle, not a degrading sentiment. 
Give her up ! — never ! What mattered her origin ? 
What mattered it that she had been the wife of a scoun - 
drel ? He pitied and loved her all the more for what 
she had suffered. 

He heard somewhere toward midnight a troubled 
step pacing softly to and fro. His face was transfigured 
as he hearkened. 

My poor little darling !” he whispered to himself. 


A WHITE MESSENGER. 


197 


Is it too late to send her a message ? I cannot let her 
think that I have let her go out of my life as she has bid 
me — she must not think so even till morning.” 

He took up the letter she had written him and laid it 
on the fire. Then he went to his desk and wrote these 
lines in a firm hand that was an index to his firm, strong, 
masterful nature : 

My Poor Little Beryl : I have read your letter 
and burned it. So let your past perish from your mind. 
We will never allude to it hereafter ; you shall begin a 
new life with me, my darling, and I will make your life 
all sunshine, if God will permit nie ; and if shadows do 
obscure our path, we shall yet tread it together. My 
darling, I shall not let you go from me ! Did you think 
that I could love you less because you had suffered ? My 
own Beryl, you do not know me. I shall procure a 
special license to-morrow for our marriage, and on the 
day after to-morrow I shall take your life into my keep- 
ing. Noble Desmond.” 

As he folded this note, he saw the newspaper item 
still lying on the table. He took up the scrap and 
burned that also, watching it flame up and burn to a 
blue crisp ghost of what it had been, and then, his letter 
in hand, he stole softly up the stair to Beryl’s door. He 
thrust his letter beneath it, as she had done a little 
before with her letter at his door, and tapped once very 
lightly on the panel to call her attention, and then he 
returned to his own room. 

He heard her pause in her walk ; he heard her quick 
spring forward as she caught sight of the white mes- 
senger of joy upon her floor. No answer came from 
her that night. He did not go to bed, and during hour 


198 


AT ST. just’s. 


after hour, as he sat by his fire wakeful and deeply 
thoughtful, he could hear her light movements now and 
then as she crossed her room, or went to her window, or 
stirred her fire. 

“ She is sleepless, too !’* he thought, yearningly. She 
cannot refuse me again. Will the morning never come !” 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

AT ST. just's. 

Night wore away at last, and morning dawned, a 
morning gray with fog and chill and dampness. Noble 
Desmond made his toilet for the day and listened to 
every sound in the corridor, to every step on the stair, 
with a hope of receiving some further message from 
Beryl. But none come. The housemaid scrubbed the 
doorsteps and performed her usual duties throughout 
the house, bringing Desmond's breakfast to him at eight 
o'clock. But he could not eat and did not sit down to 
his table. 

He heard a light step on the stair. Then a little 
note came softly under his door. The step continued to 
descend the lower stairs. Desmond caught up his letter 
hastily, and found that it contained only these words : 

I cannot take advantage of your generosity. Spare 
us both the pain of meeting again." 

Desmond crushed the letter into his pocket, put on 
his hat and hurried out of the house. 


AT ST. just’s. 


199 


As he had comprehended, Beryl was already on her 
way to Brunswick Square. He overtook her at Bedford 
Square ; he stepped forward very quietly and drew her 
arm within his. Beryl looked up with a low cry, and 
would have drawn away from him, but he held her 
hand in a firm clasp that did not heed her struggles. 
She had a small parcel in her hand containing the roll 
that was to serve as her luncheon. Desmond took the 
parcel from her gently and thrust it into his outer-coat 
pocket. He was gentle and tender as the most humble 
lover, but he had also an air of quiet authority, a master- 
ful protectiveness, as if she belonged to him utterly, 
that thrilled the girl’s lonely heart anew with joy and 
pain. 

‘‘ Are you on your way to Brunswick Square he 
asked. 

Beryl replied in the affirmative. 

‘‘ I shall go with you to Mrs. Ryan’s door,” said Des- 
mond, and will wait for you outside. Your stay need 
be but brief. All that is necessary to say to the lady is 
that you must resign your situation. I shall send you back 
to Wells street in a cab and shall come to you as soon 
as I have transacted a little business at Doctors’ 
Commons. Is this satisfactory to you, my darling?” 

The square was v^ry silent, the morning thick with 
fog. He bent his head to look into her face. She was 
very pale and wan, with big brown eyes set in purple 
circles. Her short rings of red-brown hair shaded a 
troubled brow. 

‘‘Did you find my note this morning?” she asked. 

“Yes,” he answered. “Did you think. Beryl, that I 
should let your girlish scruples come between us now ? 
You are free to marry me ; you love me. I love you ; I 
am free to marry you ; I can give you a comfortable 


200 


AT ST. JUSTS. 


home. What more can be said ? We will bury this 
dead past out of our memory. I will teach you to 
forget that men are sometimes base and cruel.’' 

“ But you are a gentleman, Noble. I am not a fit 
wife for you.” 

‘‘ Permit me to be the judge of that,” said Desmond. 
^^You are a lady. Beryl, despite any cloud on your 
origin and despite your recent misfortunes, and any man 
of however high rank would be honored by marriage 
with you. I accept all the responsibility ; you are not 
even to think in the matter. You are to become my 
wife to-morrow.” 

Beryl ceased her protestations. It was pleasant to 
submit to this stronger will, to be led in the way of hap- 
piness, even against her convictions of what was due 
Desmond. 

He has been dead some four or five months,” she 
said, in a low voice. Our marriage was never pub- 
lished in England, although we were married at Geneva 
and lived for a month near Ouchy on Lake Leman. I 
have never been called by his name, never worn mourn- 
ing for him, and never informed any one in England, 
except my mother’s brother, of my marriage.” 

‘‘ You are thinking that this marriage seems to come 
very soon after the other ?” said Desmond, compre- 
hending her thoughts. ‘^True, Beryl ; but you are not 
known to be a widow, and have no need to wait a year 
out of respect to a man who proved himself a villain. 
Trust me, darling. Let me have my own way about our 
marriage.” 

Beryl yielded her will to that of her lover, although 
even as she did so a strange presentiment of evil clouded 
her spirit. She did not speak of this presentiment, 
attributing it, perhaps, to physical weakness, but she 


AT ST. just’s. 


201 


was very silent throughout the remainder of the walk to 
Brunswick Square. 

Desmond left her at Mrs. Ryan’s door and went in 
search of a cab. He returned in the vehicle, but was 
obliged to wait a full half-hour before Beryl came down 
the steps, her cheeks flushed, and an indignant red 
sparkle glowing in her eyes. 

Desmond alighted at first sight of her. He helped her 
into the vehicle, and stood by the open door, his hat in 
his hand. 

I could hardly get away,” said the girl, with a half 
laugh. ‘‘ Mrs. Ryan was not willing to lose me, after 
all She reproached me for my ingratitude in wishing 
to leave her, read me a long lecture upon my improvi- 
dence in giving up my situation, and kept back the 
sovereign she owes me, as I am leaving her without due 
notice. Please tell the man to drive to Oxford street. 
I will tell him when to stop.” 

Desmond complied with the request, and the lovers 
parted, he to go cityward, and she going to Oxford 
street. 

When she left Mrs. Margie's that morning. Beryl had 
determined to seek cheaper lodgings before returning 
that night. She had used a large portion of the money 
that remained to her from the fund acquired in Geneva 
by the sale of her trinkets, and was in need of shoes 
and gloves. She had put into her pocket two or three 
pieces of her mother’s jewelry, including a diamond 
brooch, with the intention of selling them. Her deter- 
mination to so dispose of them was still unchanged. 
She had her fair share of womanly pride. Her toes 
were peeping from her boots, although the white stock- 
ings beneath had been carefully inked that they might 
not show. Her gloves had been darned and mended 


202 


AT ST. just’s. 


until they were past mending. Her hat had belonged 
to her school wardrobe, and after six months* wear in 
rain and sun, despite repeated renewals of the ribbon 
trimming, was very shabby, indeed. It will be 
remembered that she had not retained any portion of 
the wardrobe Conyers had bought for her. 

I want to look my best to-morrow,** she thought. 

I want to look beautiful to Noble. I will not go 
to him with these shabby school-garments bought for 
me by my uncle’s money. I will procure a proper out- 
fit that he may not be ashamed of me. I must sell my 
mother’s jewels, but the clothes I shall buy will seem a 
gift from her. And I shall still have her necklace and 
ruby locket.” 

She stopped the cab at a jeweler’s shop, and alighted. 
The brooch she offered for sale was worth above a 
hundred pounds. She obtained sixty pounds for it, the 
jeweler informing her that he was not in the habit of 
buying second-hand ornaments, but would make an 
exception to this rule for her benefit. 

With this money in hand Beryl felt rich. She drove 
to an outfitter’s and purchased two sets of very fine 
undergarments ; to a milliner’s, and bought a dainty 
round hat of black, trimmed with blue ostrich feathers 
and ribbon to match, the brim faced with pale- blue silk. 
Then she proceeded to a first-class dry-goods establish- 
ment and purchased a wedding-dress and a travelling- 
costume. 

The former was a dainty gray silk, with a gray velvet 
jacket. The latter was of navy-blue serge. Gray and 
navy-blue gloves, and a pair of fine walking-boots com- 
pleted her list of purchases, the whole having cost only 
some seventeen pounds. She returned to Wells street 


AT ST. JUST S. 


203 


with her new acquisitions, and the housemaid carried 
them up-stairs for her. 

Mrs. Margie made haste to call upon her lodger. She 
found Beryl trying on her new silk gown, and the good 
woman stood amazed. The ruffled skirt, the well-fitting 
basque, which had been adapted to the form of its 
present owner, the soft frills of tulle at the throat and in 
the slashed sleeves, were stared at by the landlady with 
a countenance that grew with every instant most severe. 

‘‘ Excuse me, miss,'' she said, frigidly, “ as it is so 
unusual for you to come home so early in the day, I 
made bold to come up to see if you were ill. Pardon 
my intrusion." 

‘‘ It is no intrusion," said Beryl, pleasantly. Please 
sit down, Mrs. Margie. I am only trying on a new dress 
and am not at all ill." 

Beryl proceeded to explain the situation. She con- 
cluded with : 

Mr. Desmond spoke of spending a week at Brighton. 
We have not had time to form our plans." 

“ You may be sure that Mr. Desmond has laid out his 
plans, even if they should be subject to your approval," 
said Mrs. Margie. How I have been mistaken in him ! 
I took him, at first, to be a sort of dainty gentleman 
with no grip in him, so to speak, but he’s got a will like 
the first Napoleon’s. I shouldn't be surprised to see 
him lord chancellor some day. He is to be admitted to 
the bar very soon, and has now a clear income of two 
hundred pounds a year. You’ll be doing well in your 
marriage, miss, and I shall wish you joy. When is the 
bans to be put up ?" 

“ There are to be no bans published," said Beryl. 

Mr. Desmond seemed anxious to be married at once, 
and will not wait three weeks, as would be necessary if 


204 


AT ST. just’s. 


he published the bans. We live in the same parish, and 
he can easily procure a special license. He knows all 
about the law, and how and what to do. We are to be 
married to-morrow morning.” 

“ So soon ? That is prompt. Are you to be married 
in church, or in a registrar’s office ?” 

“ I do not yet know. Mr. Desmond will tell me to- 
night. But I wish to ask you to attend our marriage, 
Mrs. Margie. Mr. Desmond will ask you also. We 
have no friends or relatives to Invite — ” 

“ Mr. Desmond has relatives, although they probably 
wouldn’t approve his marriage,” said Mrs. Margie. 
“ got a distant cousin who is a lord, so I’ve been 
told, though Mr. Desmond never said anything about 
noble relatives. This lord is a great politician, our 
curate says, and is as rich as Croesus. His name is 
Lord Hawkhurst, and he’s an earl. I should have 
thought, miss, that you would have worn white to be 
married in. White is so appropriate to a young bride. 
Gray is more suitable to a widow marrying again.” 

“Yes,” said Beryl, the color dying out of her face, 

“ but gray is suitable for me.” 

Mrs. Margie took her leave, intent upon her own 
wardrobe. 

A little later the housemaid came up with a sealed 
envelope, in which was an address-card, bearing these 
words in pencil : 

My darling, come down to me in the drawing-room.” 
Beryl obeyed the summons. 

She found Desmond alone. Mrs. Margie was in the 
hall outside, engaged in a vigorous dusting of the hall 


AT ST. just’s. 


205 


table with her apron. Desmond met his betrothed at 
the door, happy and impatient. 

“ I have obtained our special license, my darling,’’ he 
said, shutting the door and putting his arm around her 
and drawing her toward the hearth. It authorizes 
any clergyman or registrar to unite in marriage Noble 
Desmond, bachelor, and Beryl Conroy, widow. You 
start at the name. Is it so unfamiliar to you ? You 
know I was obliged to give your true name as nearly as 
you know’ it. And all the arrangements are made for 
our marriage at St. Just’s to-morrow morning at eleven 
o’clock. I have informed Mrs. Margie of the imminent 
change in our affairs, and she will accompany us to the 
church. Is there any one you would like to witness our 
marriage — any friend, however humble ?” 

No one. Mrs. Toploft is thousands of miles away. 
There was an old servant of my uncle who was my 
mother’s nurse — but I don’t want her. If you take me, 
Mr. Desmond, you take one without friends as well as 
without name, birth or fortune,” said Beryl, sighing. 
“ But have you no friends to invite ? Mrs. Margie says 
that you have a noble relative. Lord Hawkhurst, who 
may be offended at your marriage with me.” 

“And suppose he were?” said Desmond, with an 
amused smile. “ Lord Hawkhurst troubles himself very 
little about me, you may be sure. Beryl — as little as I do 
about him. He does not look upon me now with any 
favor. But enough of Lord Hawkhurst. Do you 
know, darling, that we are betrothed and are to be 
married to-morrow, and you have never even given me 
a kiss ?” 

He put his hand under her chin and lifted her face 
into his full view. It was a shy, happy face, radiant 
with its bright, rare beauty, and illuminated by a pair 


206 


AT ST. just’s. 


of trustful, loving eyes ; a pure and childlike face, as 
tender and lovely as it was sweet and spirited. The 
look she gave him was a caress, but the kiss he had to 
take for himself — she offered none. 

Their interview was brief, Mrs. Margie coming in pres- 
ently. Beryl hurried away up-stairs, but made her 
appearance as usual that evening in the drawing-room. 
Her fellow-lodgers were all there. Mrs. Margie had 
told the story of Beryl's betrothal, and all were full of 
interest in the young couple and good wishes for them. 
Before their unaffected kindness and sympathy all 
Beryl's embarrassment disappeared. The lodgers were 
all invited to attend the wedding, and all accepted the 
invitation. 

The next morning, at a quarter before eleven o’clock, 
three livery carriages, well equipped, approached as 
near as possible in regular line the door of Mrs. 
Margie's lodging-house. The curate, with Beryl on his 
arm, came down the steps, and entered the first carriage 
and drove away. Desmond, the curate's wife and Mrs. 
Margie occupied the second vehicle. The high-born 
sisters, in well-worn finery, and the elderly music- 
mistress, attended by the medical student, took posses- 
sion of the third. The little procession drove rapidly 
toward the church in which the marriage ceremony was 
to be performed. 

The ceremony was performed, and she was safely 
sheltered at last in a good man’s love, and at last she 
had a name rightfully her own. 

The young people proceeded to the vestry and signed 
the marriage-register. Beryl signed her name Beryl 
Star Conroy.” She hesitated a little at that last name, 
having been about to write it ‘‘ Conyers,” but she was 
now fully assured that Conyers ” had been but a per- 


AT ST. just’s. 


207 


version of the true name of the man she had married in 
Geneva, and had the impression that his real name had 
been Conroy.’* Her name, too, had been given in the 
marriage-license as ‘‘ Conroy,” so it was necessary to 
adhere to it. 

This little ceremony over, the friends of the young 
couple crowded around them with good wishes and 
congratulations. 

It had been decided that the newly married pair 
should proceed to Brighton by the early evening train, 
leaving London Bridge about dusk. In the meantime, 
a wedding-breakfast, which had been ordered by 
Desniond at a noted caterer’s in Regent street, would 
be served at Mrs. Margie’s house, and all the lodgers 
were to partake of it. 

Beryl passed out again into the church, clinging to 
Desmond’s arm. He drew her arm again in his and led 
her down the aisle to the entrance. They passed out 
together into the street. 

At that moment a carriage, with a crest upon its 
panels, drawn by two high-stepping horses, and 
attended by a coachman in livery upon the box and two 
footmen in livery at the back, came slowly along the 
street, going toward Oxford street. In the carriage 
were seated a gentleman and lady, both faultlessly 
attired. The equipages in front of the church, the little 
throng at the portal, caught the attention of the gentle- 
man and lady. They both looked intently in that 
direction. 

The carriage was that of Lord Hawkhurst. The gen- 
tleman occupying it was Rollyn Dane Conyers. The 
lady was Octavia. 

‘‘ Look, Rollyn,” said Octavia, in a lisping, affected 
voice. A marriage, I do declare. And the bridegroom 


208 


OCTAVIA’S SUSPICIONS. 


is Noble Desmond, as I live ! But who is the lady ? 
She’s not in white, and she’s got red hair, actually. 
Who is she ?” 

Dane Conyers looked at his deserted young wife, who 
believed him dead, and grew white as marble. 

The bridegroom did not notice the passing carriage, 
his cabman having addressed him at that moment. He 
helped his young wife into the vehicle, sprang in him- 
self, gave the order, ‘‘ Wells street,” and they drove 
slowly on their return to their lodgings. 

Desmond put his arm about his wife, with some whis- 
pered words of love. She did not reply to him. Her 
form seemed strangely relaxed. Her head had drooped 
suddenly to her breast. He lifted it and looked upon 
her face. She was in a deadly swoon, her face ghastly 
in its pallor, her eyes half open, and a look of horror 
frozen into their depths. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 
octavia’s suspicions. 

The carriage of Lord Hawkhurst turnea into Oxford 
street and proceeded westward, becoming lost in a 
throng of vehicles, as the bridal-party of Noble Des- 
mond went eastward. Conyers still sat with a face that 
looked as if cut from marble, with staring eyes and 
terror-stricken visage. Octavia regarded him in amaze- 
ment. 

‘‘ What is the matter ?” she asked sharply. “ Have 


OCTAVIA’S SUSPICIONS. 


209 


you taken leave of your senses ? You look as if you had 
seen a ghost/* 

“ I — I am ill !** gasped Conyers. A sudden spasm 
of pain — at my heart. Don*t speak to me !’* 

If you are ill, we must go home, I suppose,** said 
Octavia, ungraciously. “ And I have so much shopping 
to do in Bond street — I must see the jeweler — can you 
not go home without me ?** 

The guilty, miserable man opposite her looked very 
haggard and worn, with a gray color creeping over his 
face and a desperate look in his eyes. Guilty as he was, 
he might almost have been deemed worthy of pity in 
that moment, when the woman for whom he had sinned 
so deeply exhibited such heartless disregard of his suf- 
fering. 

‘‘ Let me alone,** he said. The fresh air may do me 
good.** 

He leaned back upon his cushions, his face half 
hidden in the fur collar of his overcoat, his hat drawn 
over his brows. Octavia bowed right and left with 
smiling graciousness, to acquaintances in carriages and 
acquaintances on foot, for her circle of friends was 
already quiet large — and the carriage turned into New 
Bond street. 

Octavia made her visit to the jeweler’s, and while she 
was thus occupied, Conyers drove to a quiet little place 
not far distant, and procured a glass of brandy. His 
nerves strengthened by the quick stimulant, his coolness 
and courage began to return in some measure, and he 
hailed a passing hansom cab, and was driven back to 
the little gray old church. 

It was not closed. He went in. The clergyman was 
gone, but the clerk still lingered, being deep in conver- 
sation with the pew-opener. The idlers who had come 


210 


octavia’s suspicions. 


in to witness the marriage were all departed. Conyers 
waited until the clerk had given some final orders to the 
pew-opener and had turned to depart, and then stepped 
forward with a courteous bow. 

Excuse me, sir,** he said, with an appearance of great 
respect. “ I beg you to permit me to look at your 
marriage register, only for one moment. And as I cannot 
offer any recompense to a gentleman like yourself, 
permit me to show my gratitude by this contribution to 
your poor-box.** 

Conyers drew from his pocket five golden sovereigns. 
The clerk took them up and dropped them into the 
poor-box. He then invited the yonng man to follow him 
into the vestry. 

The church safe was unlocked by the clerk, and the 
marriage register brought forth and laid upon the desk. 
Conyers read the latest entry with blurred eyes and a 
wildly beating heart : 

Noble Desmond, bachelor,*' 

and 

‘‘ Beryl Star Conroy, widow." 

A sensation of faintness crept over him. He believed 
that he was safe. 

He muttered the word to himself again and again. 
Safe ! Safe !** He thanked the clerk politely and went 
out again into the street, every pulse throbbing. 

Let her dare attack me !’* he thought, savagely, 
ril fling the charge of bigamy back in her own teeth ! 
Yet she is innocent. She believes me dead. She thinks 
my real name Conroy, and has told Desmond so. And 
I am really guilty of bigamy. They would punish me, 
but not her. Desmond did not see me, 1*11 swear to 


octavia’s suspicions. 


211 


that. Will she tell him all the truth ? Will she set him 
on my track ? And, if she does, will he endeavor to 
procure a divorce for her from me and marry her again ? 
After all, I am in a ticklish situation. If I had Beryl to 
deal with I could command success, but Desmond is a 
lion.*' 

He dismissed his cab and walked out into Oxford 
street, mingling with the midday throng of passers. 
Presently his chaotic thoughts took shape again. 

‘‘ How beautiful Beryl looked when I first beheld her 
to-day I She looked like an angel. She is the only 
woman I ever loved, and I love her still. If she had 
been well-born and rich, I might have been the happiest 
man in the world. Only four or five months since I was 
supposed to have died, and she is married to another !” 
he muttered jealously. “ The only woman I ever loved, 
the woman I still love, is Desmond’s wife ! What a 
fatality !" 

He could have groaned in his anguish. All his love 
for Beryl came back to him with renewed strength, now 
that she was forever beyond his reach. 

Angry, jealous, miserable and full of apprehensions, 
he paused abruptly at the curbstone, intending to signal 
a cab and return to Hawkhurst House. But before he 
could do so, the Hawkhurst carriage drew up in front 
of him, and a footman sprang lightly down and opened 
the door. 

Oh, you truant !” cried Octavia, in high falsetto 
tones, shaking her muff at him with an affectation of 
petty reproof. “ Come, dear. Fortunate I saw you on 
the curb. We will go home now.” 

Conyers ascended into the carriage and leaned back 
upon the cushions. 

Home !” said Octavia. 


212 


OOTAVIA’S SUSPICIONS. 


The carriage rolled slowly and luxuriously along the 
street to the westward. 

“Do you feel better?’' asked Octavia. “You are 
looking miserably, Rollyn. Your complexion is actually 
green, and your eyes have quite a tigerish look in them. 
I couldn’t imagine where you had disappeared to. I 
had a most delightful time at the jeweler’s, and bought 
a set of rubies that become me immensely.” 

Octavia then lapsed into a silence which lasted until 
they reached the house in Park Lane. They alighted 
and went up to their private rooms, the footman bring- 
ing in Mrs. Conyers’s multifarious parcels. Octavia 
went into her boudoir. Conyers would have gone on to 
his own dressing-room, but she bade him imperiously to 
come into her room. He obeyed, listlessly. 

“ Shut the door !” she commanded, looking into her 
dressing-room. “ My maid is not here, thank fortune. 
Sit down, Rollyn. Do you think you have deceived me 
to-day ?” 

Conyers sat down. 

“ Deceived you ?” he repeated. “ In what should I 
attempt to deceive you ?” 

“You were no more ill than I, in the carriage !” said 
Octavia, tearing off her hat and gloves and flinging them 
upon her piano. “ But you were frightened nearly to 
death ! Don’t deny it. You looked turned to stone 
when you beheld Noble Desmond and that girl in front 
of that church. Who was the girl ?” 

“ How do I know ?” asked Conyers, sullenly. 

“ You knew. You have seen her before. I saw the 
look she gave you. And I know that when you left me 
in Bond street, you went back to that church. I was on 
my way back there to assure myself of the fact when I 
encountered you. Is Desmond married ?” 


LORD HAWKHURST FAVORS OOTAVIA’s PLANS. 213 

I suppose SO. If you’re going to be jealous, Octavia, 
that will be the only thing necessary to render my life 
a hell upon earth. Pursue your present course if you 
wish to become utterly abhorrent to me. As to your 
cross-questioning, do not practice it upon me !” 

Octavia’s eyes snapped viciously. 

“You have got a secret,” she said, “and it is con- 
nected with Desmond’s wife. I mean to pry it out. I 
shall find his address and call upon her.” 

“ Do so, if you dare ! Octavia, I’ve borne enough ! 
Pry into my secrets, madam, and I’ll go to Lord Hawk- 
hurst and tell him your real character ! Better let me 
alone !” 

Arising, Conyers hurried out of the room. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

LORD HAWKHURST FAVORS OCTAVIA’S PLANS. 

The events in the preceding chapter occurred upon 
the day following the evening in which Lord Hawkhurst 
affixed his signature to his will, and consequently upon 
the day following Mr. Sherwald’s acquaintance with 
Octavia in her dishonorable character of eavesdropper. 

Octavia had gone down to the library at a late hour 
upon that evening of her unmasking by the lawyer, had 
found Lord Hawkhurst still in the library and had told 
her story with such effect as to convince the earl that 
she was the most scrupulously honorable, the most 
sensitive of women. She kindled his anger against 
Sherwald for having dared to suspect her of such base- 


214 : LORD HAWKHITRST FAVORS OOTAYIA’s PLANS. 

ness as eavesdropping, and after certain artful allusions 
to her dear father and her dear father’s affection for the 
earl, she returned to her own rooms well satisfied that 
she had completely forestalled and neutralized any story 
the solicitor might impart to his noble employer. 

On re-entering the boudoir she found Conyers and 
Mr. Callender in close conversation, and with counten- 
ances whose singular expressions gave her some uneasi- 
ness, she not being able to fathom them. They broke 
off their private consultation at her entrance, and her 
uncle soon after took his leave. 

And on the next morning while the stormy interview 
was occurring between Conyers and Octavia, which 
ended in the retreat of the former to his own private 
dressing-room in high anger, Mr. Sherwald arrived at 
Hawkhurst House, was duly announced, and ushered 
as usual into the great handsome library. 

Lord Hawkhurst sat at a richly carved desk at a little 
distance from the great bay-window, the dull light of 
the February day streaming over his shoulders upon 
the paper before him. As Sherwald entered, he looked 
up with a frown, which disappeared as he recognized 
the intruder, and he arose with his never-failing 
courtesy and greeted his visitor, with a stiffness, how- 
ever, and a lack of cordiality he had never before dis- 
played to his solicitor. 

‘‘ I thought I should be sure to find you at home 
at this hour, my Lord,” said Mr. Sherwald. ^‘We 
neglected to arrange that matter of Mr. Conyers’s 
annuity, or allowance, last evening, and I wish more 
fully to understand your ideas in regard to it. If you 
can give me a half-hour or so now, I shall be glad to 
receive your instructions. Or, if you will appoint a 
time more convenient to you, I will call again.” 


LORD HATyXHUKST FAVORS OCTAVIA^S PLANS. 215 

“ It is as well to understand the matter now” said 
Lord Hawkhurst, coldly. I do not purpose settling 
any annuity upon Conyers in legal fashion — to bind 
myself absolutely to the payment of any fixed annual 
sum. Conyers is to be my heir ; that is settled. I shall 
never marry again. My will is made in his favor. I 
shall treat him as if he were my son — give him a thou- 
sand a year out of my own purse. With what he already 
has of his own, he will thus be independent of his wife’s 
fortune. But as to legal documents and binding myself 
by legal form to contribute to his support, I do not care 
to do it. My word is as good as my bond.” 

Mr. Sherwald had taken a seat near the earl’s, who 
had resumed his. The lawyer was grave and troubled. 
He hardly knew how to enter upon a statement which 
he conceived it his duty to make. The earl’s counten- 
ance did not invite his confidence, but was cold and 
unusually haughty. To gain time, and to establish, if 
possible, the usual pleasant relations between himself 
and patron, Mr. Sherwald brought up a subject to which 
circumstances had given prominence in his mind during 
the past few hours. 

By the way, my Lord, we were speaking yesterday 
of your young kinsman, Desmond, who bears your own 
family name, and with it many of the lion-like character- 
istics of your house. You made a provision for him in 
your will. He seems to be a very noble young fellow, 
quiet and gentlemanly, with a will as strong and resolute 
even as your own. I am greatly impressed with him. 
I think you told me that he has an income of only two 
hundred pounds a year. Am I mistaken ?” 

‘‘ That is all,” said the earl, although he told me 
that he had lived on half his income for some years, and 
has a matter of five hundred pounds clear and in bank.” 


216 LORD HAWKHURST FAVORS OCTAVIA’s PLANS. 

‘‘He’ll need it now,” said Mr. Sherwald. “I was in 
the office of a friend of mine, a rising young barrister, 
yesterday. While we were in conversation, in came 
Desmond. I retired into an inner room, from which I 
could see him, but I did not know who he was. Later 
my friend told me of Desmond’s business with him. It 
seems that he and Desmond are very good friends, and 
that he owns a pretty little villa at Fulham, which some 
godmother left him, and which is now empty. Des- 
mond desires to hire it or lease it for a number of years, 
and the arrangements are to be completed after Des- 
mond’s return from Brighton, whither he goes to-day to 
remain a week.” 

The earl arched his shaggy red brows. 

“ A villa at Fulham!” he ejaculated. “What does 
Desmond want of a villa at Fulham ?” 

“ He told his friend, who is my friend,” said Mr. 
Sherwald, “ that he expected to be married to-day.” 

“Married? He? The sly dog! He pretended to 
me at Hawks’ Cliff that he had never loved any woman, 
and I actually believed him !” cried the earl, reddening 
angrily. 

“ I am positive that he had never seen this lady when he 
visited you in October,” said Mr. Sherwald. “ My friend 
— his’friend also, you remember — told me that they had 
not been three months acquainted, and that the lady is 
a widow who has lived all her life out of England, but 
who is English born. Without doubt they were married 
this morning.” 

“ Humph ?” said the earl. “Well, it’s nothing to me. 
Is she well-born ?” 

“ I don’t know. My friend doesn’t know either, [I 
think. But she is, doubtless. A man like Desmond 
would naturally marry a refined and well-born lady.” 


LORD HAWKHURST FAVORS OCTAVIA^S PLANS. 217 

‘‘ I am not sure,” said the earl, doubtfully. ‘‘ He told 
me once that he’d marry any woman, no matter if she 
were a cobbler’s daughter, if he loved her, and I believe 
he would. But she has money, probably ?” 

‘‘I think not. He did not say much about her, but 
there were no marriage settlements. He insured his life 
for her benefit yesterday for a sum of five thousand 
pounds. I rather think she must be poor. What little 
he said about her was spoken with as much pride as if 
she were a princess of our own royal family.” 

“ I should like to know more about Desmond’s mar- 
riage,” said the earl. “ I was greatly taken with him 
until he set up his will against mine. He is a man of 
sterling principle, and commanded my respect. If he 
could have won Miss Windsor’s love and married her, I 
should have made him my heir in preference to Con- 
yers.” 

“ And Conyers won the heiress,” said Sherwald, find- 
ing an opening at last for his intended communication. 
“ Do you think Mrs. Conyers very beautiful, my Lord ?” 

“Well, no, not beautiful after any very lofty type, but 
she’s pretty and showy. She has good blood in her, 
Sherwald. Her father was the soul of honor.” 

“It is a pity that he did not transmit his noble 
qualities to his daughter,” said Mr. Sherwald, gravely. 
“ Pardon me, my Lord, but this young lady is not worthy 
your high regard.” He then told his story. 

The earl’s steel-blue eyes flashed fire. 

“ Be careful, Sherwald 1” he said, haughtily, and with an 
anger that convulsed all his rough-hewn, massive 
features. “ It is not the part of a gentleman to traduce 
a lady.” Hawkhurst then told his counter-story, con- 
cluding with: “You basely and grossly insulted the 


218 LORD HAWKHURST FAVORS OCTAVIa’s PLANS. 


mistress of my house- — the future Countess of Hawk- 
hurst — the daughter of my dear old friend !’* 

‘‘ But, my Lord, I assure you — ” 

‘‘ I want no assurances,** interrupted the earl, roughly. 
‘‘You may apologize to Mrs. Conyers, but I will not 
hear another word on the subject, except words of regret 
for your insulting conduct.** 

The earl’s wrath flamed up like a devastating fire. He 
actually raved in his madness. Sherwald stood up and 
bore his anger in calmness. Lord Hawkhurst grew 
more and more fierce with every instant, his voice ring- 
ing through the house in a passionate frenzy, and he 
finally ended by ordering Sherwald out of his house. 

The solicitor bowed, still calmly, and quietly walked 
out of the room. 

As he paused outside to close the door, he saw that a 
few servants were gathered in groups in the hall, at the 
head of the area stairs, and were pale and frightened. 
They had all learned to fear the earl in his tornado-like 
bursts of passion. Sherwald raised his eyes, and beheld 
on the upper landing, leaning lightly oh the balustrade, 
Octavia Conyers. Her hard black eyes were gleaming, 
her face wore a mocking smile. He bowed to her, but 
in the steely gleam that crossed his visage, and the 
strange smile on his lips, she might have read a warning. 
She had made this man her deadly enemy, but just then 
she only thought of her triumph and his humiliation. 

He took up his hat and left the house. As he walked 
down Park Lane toward Piccadilly, he thought, in his 
own heart : 

“That woman*s triumph won*t be very long-lived. If 
it were not that I really respect the earl and like him, I’d 
never forgive him for this scene of to-day. I hope he*ll 


LORD HAWKHUKST FAVORS OCTAVIA’s PLANS. 219 


discover that woman’s real character before harm is 
done !” 

The earl sank back in his^chair after the departure of 
Sherwald. Quick to wrath, fiery of soul, with a wicked 
temper, his anger was yet quickly spent. He was already 
regretful for his violence. 

“ The idiot doubtless meant well,’* he thought, with 
pangs of very uncomfortable self-reproach. “ I was too 
hasty. Sherwald’s a gentleman, and I treated him like 
a dog. A friend of thirty years’ standing treated with 
contumely, because he expressed his honest convictions ! 
Of course, he believed what he said, the thick-skulled 
idiot !” 

He drew a long, sobbing sigh, and resting his head on 
his hand, was very silent for a long time. 

There came a knock upon his door, which opened, and 
with the rustling of silken drapery Octavia Conyers 
came sweeping in. The earl roused himself wearily and 
looked toward her. She wore still her carriage-costume 
of mauve velvet, which swept the floor, and was trimmed 
profusely with bands of silver-fox fur. Her bodice was 
cut open in heart-shape and outlined with a band of fur, 
inside which was an upright frill of yellow old point 
lace. She wore in her ears, on her neck and upon her 
arms the rubies she had purchased that morning out of 
her Cragthorpe income — consequently, out of her uncle’s 
money — and her ostensible object now was to exhibit 
them to Lord Hawkhiirst for his approval and admira- 
tion. 

‘‘ Can you spare me a few moments, my Lord ?” she . 
asked sweetly, approaching him. Do not rise, I beg 
of you. Let me come in without ceremony, just as if I 
were your own daughter, you know. I wish I were your 
daughter, Lord Hawkhurst. The love I should have 


220 LORD HAWKHURST FAVORS OCTAYIA’s PLANS. 


given my own papa, if he had lived, I have given to 
you.” 

Lord Hawkhurst had arisen, in spite of her protesta- 
tion. He smiled faintly at her words, and made some 
remark expressive of his appreciation of her high regard. 

‘‘ I’ve been out shopping this morning,” continued 
Octavia, in girlish volubility, and I bought these 
rubies. I want your opinion concerning them. Are 
they not lovely ? I gave a thousand pounds for them. 
Should you think them worth the money ?” 

She drew herself up to her utmost height, that Lord 
Hawkhurst might see the jewels more distinctly. She 
had deemed it advisable to secure the trinkets at the 
expense of the true owner of Cragthorpe, confident that 
he would never compel her to yield them up after she 
should declare to him that she had not known that he 
still lived. 

‘‘They are very fine,” said the earl, rather indiffer- 
ently. “They are becoming to you, Octavia.” 

“Yes,” she answered, moving her head so that the red 
jewels swung to and fro like living coals. “ Rubies 
always become brunettes. Rollyn has told me that you 
have superb family jewels, rubies and diamonds, of 
immense value and great beauty. Will you show them 
to me some day, dear Lord Hawkhurst ? I adore jewels.” 

“ They are locked up in bank,” said the earl. “ They 
have not been worn since my wife, who was Lady Portia 
Marly, wore them. Possibly some day I may withdraw 
them from the bank and have them reset ; but not this 
season, I think.” 

“ I wish I might wear them,” said Octavia, with pre- 
tended impulsiveness. “ Oh, what have I said ? What 
must you think of me ? But it seems so hard that those 
priceless gems should be locked up in a bank-vault 


LORD HAWKHURST FAVORS OOTAVIA’s PLANS. 221 

instead of flashing their beauty in the gaslight, and 
becoming the envy of every fashionable woman in town. 
I’m such a child, my Lord, I say whatever I think. You 
must treat me as if I were really your daughter, and 
scold me when I deserve it, and deny me whatever you 
think I ought not to have.” 

She assumed an expression of childlike sweetness and 
submission that was meant to be very effective, but 
which looked out of place upon her dark features. 
Lord Hawkhurst was conscious of not liking her so well 
in this new role. His manner stiffened a little. He 
disliked affectation of every sort, and it was beginning to 
dawn upon his mind that his favorite was full of affec- 
tation. 

‘‘By the bye,” said Octavia, “while we were out this 
morning we made a morning call or two, and went to 
Oxford street by a new route. In passing a church we 
saw a bridal-party, and I recognized in the bridegroom 
Mr. Noble Desmond. It is odd, is it not, that we were 
not invited to the wedding? I did not even know that 
he was going to be married.” 

“ It is singular that you happened to see him come out 
of church, my dear. I did not know until within an hour 
or so that Desmond was even thinking of marriage. He 
hasn’t troubled himself to inform me of his plans,” said 
the earl. “ How did the lady look ? She is a widow, I 
hear ?” 

“ She a widow ! Why, she’s a mere chit of sixteen, or 
seventeen, with a fair baby face and red hair — actually 
red hair, cut off short to her head, and curling in little 
close rings. Her hair is the color of that red bronze be- 
hind you, my Lord.” 

“ I’d like to see Desmond’s red-haired widow. I think, 
my dear, that we’ll invite them to dine with us. I 


222 


WHAT BERYL DID. 


presume the woman is a soap-boiler’s daughter and a 
waterman's widow — Desmond is so odd in his ideas — 
but she's a Desmond now, and I propose that we receive 
her into the family and treat her with respect. If we 
don’t like her, we needn't keep up her acquaintance." 

I was about to make the same proposition, my Lord," 
cried Octavia, eagerly. We will invite Desmond and 
his bride to dinner. I want to see her ; her appearance 
interested me greatly." 

“ They leave for Brighton to-day to remain a week. 
You can invite a dinner-party to meet them on any day 
they may appoint. It is true I am not friendly with 
Desmond, but he's not a man to bear malice. I'll write 
a note and send it to his office, and it will be forwarded 
to them. You can issue your general invitations after 
receiving Desmond's reply to my letter." 

Octavia acquiesced 16 the decision with scarcely con- 
cealed joy. 

“ ril bring that red-headed woman and Rollyn Conyers 
face to face,” she thought, exultantly. They shall meet 
in my presence, and then I shall learn the secret between 
them !" 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

WHAT BERYL DID. 

For a moment it seemed to Noble Desmond that his 
bride was dead. He shouted to the coachman to drive 
faster — to drive for life ! The carriage drew up at last 
before the door of Mrs. Margie's lodgings. A house- 


WHAT BERYL DID. 


223 


maid, in a fresh white cap with pink ribbons, opened the 
door, all smiles and welcome. Desmond alighted, gath- 
ered up his bride in his arms and carried her into the 
house and laid her upon the drawing-room sofa. The 
coachman hurried in quest of a physician, while Des- 
mond and the housemaid worked for Beryl’s recovery. 
Just as the remaining carriages came hurrying up. Beryl 
gave a quick gasping sigh and opened her eyes. 

‘‘My darling!” whispered Desmond, with yearning 
tenderness, putting his arm around her. “Lie down. 
You were very ill for a few moments, but you’ll be 
better directly.” 

He pressed her back gently upon the pillow. She 
closed her eyes wearily to avoid being questioned, but 
her face was strangely drawn and convulsed with an 
agony whose cause none there could guess. 

Desmond explained to Mrs. Margie and the rest that 
his bride had fainted on entering the carriage at the 
church. He believed the cause to be physical, some 
weakness of the heart, perhaps — the doctor would soon 
tell them. 

The lodgers stood about in anxious groups. The 
carriages were all sent away. Mrs. Margie watched at 
the door for the doctor, while Desmond hung over his 
bride, his face strangely set and stern in its awful 
anxiety. 

The physician presently appeared, and was conducted 
into the drawing-room. Desmond briefly told what had 
occurred so far as he knew it. Beryl opened her eyes, 
answered a few questions, but gave no clew to the 
cause of her illness. 

“ She fainted from over-emotion,” answered the doc- 
tor, a little puzzled. “ She seems to me as if she had 
received some sudden and terrible shock, but that. 


WHAT BERYL DID. 


m 

under the circumstances, is impossible. She fainted 
simply, but seems quite weak and prostrated. I shall 
give her a quieting powder, and I advise that she be put 
in her own bed and left to rest for an hour or two. 
She will awaken quite herself again. At present, she 
seems a little dazed and frightened.” 

“ It’s a bad omen to be taken ill like that at her very 
wedding, as one might say,” said Mrs. Margie. ‘‘ Poor 
dear, she was expecting to start for Brighton at five 
o’clock on her wedding tower.” 

** She’ll be well enough to go,” said the doctor. 
‘^Better take her as you had planned, Mr. Desmond. 
The change is what she requires. I should say that she 
is weakened from overwork and the want of proper 
nourishing food, although in the last I am probably 
mistaken. A little care and a few days at Brighton will 
quite set her up again.” 

The doctor took his leave, and Desmond carried his 
bride up to her own old room and laid her upon her 
bed. One of her boxes stood packed and strapped, 
ready for removal. The other was open, ready to 
receive her wedding-gown. 

Desmond went out, leaving the curate’s wife and Mrs. 
Margie to disrobe Beryl and put her between the sheets. 
They gave her the composing powder, and went out 
softly, leaving her to herself. The lodgers and Mrs. 
Margie went down to the drawing-room, but Desmond 
sat outside Beryl’s door, watchful, listening and anxious. 

The powder which the doctor had left for Beryl had 
been unusually powerful, as was required in her state of 
suppressed yet terrible excitement. It had taken effect 
now, and Beryl lay in a dreamless sleep, very like to 
death, so white, so still, so marble-like, save for the 


HE GREW INVOLUNTARILY RESPECTFUL.— ra<je ‘ilSO 





I 



I 




r 


' V 



•» 


« 

u 


\ 



• s 

M 


V 

^ V 


.V /. 4 ‘ .. 

-. ;•• • 


< 





» 


c 


> 




« 

<• 




. A 


,* 


,» 





' <t 




Ty 


/ 


* 


* 


rf-* 


>» 



• . k 


C,’ 


« 


I 


• » 


4 TS 

iT-. 


« 

- I ^ 


« 


% 





V 


f 


% 


» 



t 


« 


•> • 

Cl 


> 


J 


J * 


I 







■» • 


.■r 





% 


f 





~ /• 


% 


I 




« • 


V : . 


I 


>*. '■ 









\ 


t 






’« ■•■ 

« . 


'V 







ii. 


» 


•, 


» -• 

1 



i 1 






* 1 


-V. 


« 


f 




« 


I 


1 


*.< 








4 


4 


< 



J 



5 I 




« 


. 'A* \ 


f * 


• \ 


.1 





V 


.P 


t 

J 

< 


3 


I* 


> 


I 


i 

^1 



WHAT BERYL DID. 


225 


dark circles around her eyes. Desmond hushed his 
breath as he looked upon her. 

“ She looks like a lily that has been beaten down by 
the storm,” he thought. What is this trouble that has 
come to her? One moment happy, the next stricken 
down into a seeming of death. What is this mystery 
that has come between us ? Has she discovered that 
she does not love me? I will not believe it. What, 
then, is the mystery ?” 

He could not penetrate it. 

He stood there a long time, watching her death-like 
sleep, or trance, as it might have been termed, his very 
soul yearning over her. 

She will tell me all when she awakens,” he thought. 

My poor, over-worked, starved little wife !” 

He bent over and kissed her. Then, fearing lest he 
should disturb her, he crept softly out again to his post 
in the hall. 

The afternoon grew late. The hall and stairs grew 
full of shadows. Mrs Margie came stealing up at last’to 
light the gas, looking very anxious and troubled. 

“ Mr. Desmond, you’ll get your death sitting there in 
the draughts,” she said, in a shrill, exasperating sort of 
whisper. And you’ve not had a blessed morsel of 
food to eat since breakfast. Come down and have a 
cup of tea in the drawing-room. The lodgers are all 
there, and all feel for you in this strange dispensation. 
The house is like a tomb. The wedding-breakfast 
hasn’t been touched. It’s almost five o’clock. You 
won’t be able to go to Brighton to-day.” 

“No,” said Desmond, quietly. “We shall have to 
wait until morning now. Mrs. Desmond is asleep and 
may not wake for hours. I think she will awaken quite 
herself.” 


226 


WHAT BEKYL DID. 


Of course she will, sir. A fainting fit is nothing 
uncommon. Most girls do faint when they are married, 
leastways it’s a very common thing for them to do,” 
affirmed Mrs. Margie. “ It's a sign of feeling, you know, 
sir. And Miss Star — that is, Mrs. Desmond — she’s been 
overworked lately, as the doctor said, and she has 
hardly eaten meat once since she came into my house. 
The excitment in her weakened state was too much for 
her, that’s all.” 

‘‘ Do you think that was all, Mrs. Margie ?” 

“ Law, sir, what else could there be ? There was 
nothing to frighten her. Come down, Mr. Desmond, 
while she sleeps.” 

But Desmond declined. Mrs. Margie lit the gas and 
went below. Presently the curate came up and urged 
Desmond to descend, and was so earnest in his entreat- 
ies, that the young man reluctantly gave in to him, and 
accompanied him to the drawing-room for a cup of tea. 
He had eaten nothing since morning, and the slight 
refreshment now offered him was not unrequired. He 
was absent from his post not quite half an hour ; yet 
during that brief space of time, events occurred which 
changed the whole current of his own and Beryl’s life. 

In the first place, he had hardly descended the stairs, 
when Beryl awakened. There was no start, no yawn, 
no slow return to a realization of the events of waking 
existence, but a keen, sudden and sharp resumption of 
life as she had left it on dropping into her enforced 
slumber. The same desolate look that had been in her 
eyes when she closed them was in them when she 
wakened. She looked up at the ceiling, around her at 
the empty room, and slowly gathered up her slight 
figure and sat upon the edge of the bed. 

And now one might have detected that the edge of 


WHAT BERYL DID. 


227 


her suffering seemed somewhat blunted. A stony calm 
seemed to hold her in thrall, the calmness of a horrified 
despair. She passed her hand above her forehead 
wearily, as if brushing away something that disturbed 
her. She arose mechanically, and began to dress her- 
self with hands that seemed too stiff to perform their 
office. 

“ Poor Noble,*' she whispered, softly. It will come 
hard upon him. If they knew, they would send me to 
prison, I suppose. And in any case I am not Noble's 
wife. I know I am not. I am the wife of Dane Con- 
yers, and Dane Conyers is alive. Is Noble bound to me 
if I am not to him ? Will there be a scandal ? That 
would gall him terribly. Oh ! if I might sink out of his 
life as a stone sinks into the river, leaving no trace 
behind. He would mourn for me, but no shadow of 
disgrace would darken his life. To die now ! To die 
now !" 

She set her white lips together in a straight, thin line, 
and hastened with her dressing. The garments she had 
worn that day she resumed, one by one, except her 
bridal-dress. Her travelling-costume of navy-blue serge 
was spread upon a chair ready to put on — her purse, her 
handkerchief, her gloves in the pocket, ready for use. 
She put it on, jacket and all. Her hat, enshrouded in 
a gr^y veil, was on her table. She put that on also. 
These articles of attire had been made ready before her 
going forth that morning, for the journey of the even- 
ing — the bridal-journey. But what journey was this 
upon which she was bound ? 

She felt feverish and cold by turns, and put her hand 
again and again to her forehead in that dazed kind of 
way. She was all dressed. A strange excitement began 
to burn in her veins. 


228 


BERYL FINDS REFUGE. 


She shuddered and looked over her shoulder with 
peering, frightened eyes. Half delirious, with the 
terrors of her situation pressing frightfully upon her, 
weak and worn from toil and a starvation diet, her per- 
ceptions were bewildered. She only knew that she 
wanted to die. 

She opened her door softly and glided like a ghost 
down the stairs, flight after flight. The drawing-room 
door was slightly ajar. She could hear the sound of 
subdued voices, hushed as if death were in the house. 
The door of the rear parlor was open, also, and Beryl 
could see the wedding-breakfast set out, with withered 
flowers. It had not been touched. She listened a 
moment in hope of hearing Desmond’s voice, and then 
she opened the street-door and slipped out, half mad- 
dened, into the winter night, and hurried instinctively 
in the direction of the river. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

BERYL FINDS REFUGE. 

The bells were tolling the hour of midnight, when 
Beryl came out upon Westminster Bridge. She had 
wandered about all these hours, intent only upon reach- 
ing the river. Leaning her head upon the parapet, she 
looked down into the black river below. 

To pray ! It was the first time since the great horror 
of that day had fallen upon her that she had thought of 
prayer ! To pray when heart and brain seemed alike 
iDursting — when her soul was tossed to and fro on waves 


BERYL FINDS REFUGE. 


229 


of anguish — when her very reason seemed tottering ! 
But she dared not die without appealing to her Maker 
to forgive her sin. She dared not throw away the life 
He had given her without asking Him to be merciful to 
her. 

For an hour she sobbed and wept on the lonely 
bridge, while wanderers like herself flitted past her, or 
a late cab rattled by, or some stern guardian of the 
night passed and re-passed, with a watchful eye upon 
her. , 

The tears eased her brain and heart. The burning 
fever left her. Weak and worn and still despairing, she 
yet had strength to utter a new prayer from the very 
soul that God would pity and guard her. She looked 
over the parapet again, but the river had lost its fatal 
fascination. She shuddered and drew back. 

Wrapped in herself, she did not notice the ragged, 
wretched beings who huddled in the other recessed 
benches for a few hours* sleep. The policeman who 
had passed her two or three times appeared again upon 
the bridge, stirring up the unfortunate ones on the 
benches and driving them away. They moved on before 
him like sheep, and made off to arches and doorways 
they had often 'haunted. 

Come, you ; clear out,’* he said, roughly, stirring up 
Beryl with his club, as if she had been a wild beast in a 
cage. These here ain*t free lodgings.** 

Beryl rose up, and he flashed the full light of his 
bull’s-eye ** upon her. He saw at a glance that she was 
not of the same class as the unfortunate women he had 
just accosted. The fashionable attire ; the fair, pure, 
high-bred face ; the gentle, half-haughty reserve of 
manner, all declared to him that this homeless one was 


230 


BERYL FINDS REFUGE. 


a lady. He grew involuntarily respectful, although 
regarding her suspiciously. 

Fve had my eyes on you some time, miss,’* he said, 
a little less rudely. Thought you was making up your 
mind to jump off the bridge. This here is no place for 
the likes of you. It’s nigh on to two o’clock, and you 
ought to have been at home hours ago. Where do you 
live ?” 

Beryl drew away from him, and did not answer. She 
moved on slowly, as if to beat a retreat. The policeman 
kept at her side. 

Are you thinking of killing yourself, miss ?” he 
asked. 

No,” said Beryl, and low as were her tones the 
officer felt the truth and sincerity of the speaker. I 
shall not kill myself.” 

That’s right. If you’ve done anything to offend the 
old folks, and are afraid to go home, remember that 
scoldings are better than London streets at this hour. 
And if you’ve had a quarrel with your lover, as young 
women of every degree are always having, just think 
that suicide and this kind of thing ain’t going to make 
it up. Where did you say you live?” 

I — I don’t know,” said Beryl. Please let me 
alone !” 

She flitted on before him swiftly, and sped across the 
bridge to the Surrey side. She soon found herself in 
Westminster Road, a quarter of London of which she 
knew nothing. She shrank from entering the dark and 
narrow streets, which continually branched away, and 
kept to the wider and better lighted Road. She reached 
the obelisk — a central point in the Borough — then passed 
along the Borough Road, and in a dark and sheltered 
doorway, near Queen’s Bench Prison, she halted to rest. 


BERYL FINDS REFUGE. 


231 


She thought of Switzerland, where all her years, up to 
the last few' months, had been spent. There was no 
home for her there. No home for her at Starwood — her 
uncle's farm ; no home for her anywhere. She could 
think of no possible refuge in this hour of desolateness. 

The Borough shops were becoming generally open 
now, for custom begins early upon the Surrey side of 
the Thames. An upholsterer's shop was open in the 
Borough High street, and in a little mirror in the win- 
dow, Beryl caught a glimpse of her reflection as she 
passed by. Pale as death, with great, burning eyes and 
wild, strange gaze, it was no wonder people turned to 
look after her. She drew her veil down over her face to 
hide it, and walked on until she neared the London 
Bridge railway terminus. A small crowd of people were 
hurrying into the station. She followed them and 
entered a waiting-room, and took a retired seat. 

Putting her hand in her pocket, she found her purse. 
She had put it in the pocket of her travelling-dress, with 
gloves and handkerchief, ready for her bridal journey. 
She had done this before going to church to be married, 
and had locked her door on leaving her room. She 
found her money now all intact — a sum of forty-three 
pounds and some shillings. She drew out a shilling, 
and as she did so, marked a white address-card in one 
of the sections of her pocket-book. She examined the 
pasteboard. It was the card which had been given her 
by the landlady of the Dover Castle Hotel, at Dover, 
and bore the address of the London hotel Beryl had 
stopped at on her arrival in town, and also the address 
of a quiet lodging-house at Bayswater. 

‘‘Why should I not go there now ?" the girl asked 
herself. “ It is a long distance to Bayswater, I should 


232 


BERYL FINDS REFUGE. 


think, and I shall be hidden from Desmond until I can 
decide upon my future course.** 

With the address-card in her hand, she went out upon 
the platform. A train had just arrived. A row of cabs 
was breaking up rapidly. Beryl signaled “ a four- 
wheeler,’* gave the address of Portchester Villas, No. 
5 Landsdowne Terrace, Bayswater, and entering the 
vehicle, was borne away to her new destination. 

Beryl alighted, dismissed her cab, and rang the 
garden-bell. The garden was separated from the street 
by a very tall iron fence, in which were set, at regular 
intervals, tall iron gates, or doors, which were always 
kept locked, no intruders being allowed in Portchester 
gardens. Beryl had time to observe this, before a 
woman emerged from the area-way of No. 5, with a key 
in her hand, and came down the walk and unlocked the 
gate. She admitted Beryl into the garden, led the way 
to the house, and conducted her up the porch steps, 
through a narrow hall, and ushered her into a snug 
dining-room that looked out upon the gardens. She 
then vanished. 

Presently, the door opened again, and the mistress of 
the house entered. Miss Cavanagh was an Irishwoman, 
with unmistakably Irish features ; she had a bright and 
pleasant expression, and possessed, evidently, a jolly, 
good-natured temperament. She had made quite a sum 
of money during the last fifteen years, and was decidedly 
a practical, hard-headed business woman, while she was 
at the same time warm-hearted and hospitable. 

I am Miss Cavanagh,” said the plump, smiling land- 
lady, bowing. The servant was telling me you wished 
to see me.” 

‘‘Yes,” said Beryl. “lam Miss Star. The landlady 


BERYL FINDS REFUGE. 


233 


of the Dover Castle Hotel, at Dover, gave me your 
address, and I am come to look for lodgings.” 

Again Beryl told the story of her life in Switzerland, 
ending with : 

Can you give me a room 

I’ll let you have the third-floor front for eight shil- 
lings, attendance included,” said Miss Cavanagh, her 
warm Irish sympathies enlisted in Beryl’s behalf. ^^It’s 
taken a fancy to you I have. I’m thinking. It’s a sore 
pity for one like you to be seeking lodgings in London. 
Come up and look at the room and say will it suit you.” 

She conducted Beryl up two flights of stairs to a bright 
little front-room. The walls were covered with gilded 
paper — the floor with a pretty Kidderminster carpet. 

“ May I stay now ?” asked Beryl, wistfully. ‘‘ I dis- 
missed the cab and I don’t know where to go if you 
send me away.” 

Come down-stairs again, till Kate lights the fire and 
makes the room tidy. I suppose you can stay. Miss 
Star,” said the landlady, perhaps a little reluctantly, 
but I never took in a lodger in this way before, and 
it doesn’t seem exactly business like — now does it?” 

She led the way again into the warm little dining- 
room, and Beryl resumed her seat. Miss Cavanagh 
made further inquiries of her, and Beryl answered her 
frankly, since none of the questions bore in any way 
upon the secrets of the young girl’s life. Miss Cav- 
anagh seemed to take it for granted that Beryl had just 
come up from Dover, and Beryl did not enlighten her 
upon that point, since no especial inquiry was made 
about the time of her arrival. 

Late that evening Beryl sat alone in her cheery little 
room and wrote a letter to Noble Desmond in these 
words : 


234 


SHERWALD ON THE RIGHT TRACK. 


Mr. Noble Desmond : When I quitted Wells street 
last night, it was to take my own life. I went to West- 
minster Bridge, but my purpose failed me. I wandered 
through the streets all night. I have found a shelter 
now, but where it is I may not tell you. For we can 
never meet again. I am not your wife. Noble. Our 
marriage ceremony is all null and void. How can I tell 
you how it is that you are free ? As we stood together 
at the church door, and I thought I was at the threshold 
of Paradise, I saw him passing by. Vane Conroy — my 
husband ! God pity us both ! I shall never see you 
again, but I shall pray for you till I die ; and I hope 
that in time a happier love may banish all remembrance 
of me from your mind. And yet — oh. Noble ! Life is 
so hard ! Farewell forever. Beryl.** 

The next morning, closely veiled, and determined to 
leave no clew by which she could be traced, she went to 
the general post-office at St. Martin*s-le-Grand and 
posted her letter. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

SHERWALD ON THE RIGHT TRACK. 

After his interview with Octavia, during which she 
had told him of having seen Noble Desmond and his 
bride at the door of St. Just*s, Lord Hawkhurst sat 
alone in his library for a long time, busy with his 
thoughts. He finally wrote a letter to Sherwald, asking 
him to call on the following day. Then, the question 


SHERWALD ON THE RIGHT TRACK. 


235 


of Desmond's marriage being still in his mind, he 
requested his solicitor to seek out Desmond and deliver 
to him a letter which he inclosed, Sherwald knowing, 
and the earl not knowing, Desmond’s address. The 
inclosed letter was a somewhat formal congratulation to 
Desmond upon his marriage, and contained an invita- 
tion for Desmond and his bride to dine at Hawkhurst 
House upon any day they might appoint. The letter 
was dispatched upon the following morning. 

Upon the evening of the same day on which the letter 
was sent, Mr. Sherwald made his appearance at Hawk- 
hurst House, and was shown up to the library. 

The earl was standing by the fire. He came forward 
and offered Sherwald his hand, and in the warm mutual 
clasp the old harmony between them was restored. 
Lord Hawkhurst made no apologies for his rudeness on 
the occasion of their recent interview, nor did the 
solicitor expect an apology, but the manner of each had 
its old cordiality and freedom. 

“ Sit down, Sherwald,” said the earl. “ I wanted to 
see you again about the leasing of the Blackborough 
farm. We didn't come to any decision in regard to it, 
you may remember.” 

The solicitor sat down, as requested. He looked 
grave and preoccupied, and the earl was not slow to 
observe the fact. 

“ You look troubled,” observed his lordship. I 
hope it is not on account of what transpired at our last 
interview. I assure you that while you were hasty and 
over-zealous, yet I do full justice to your motives. 
Here we drop the matter. And now about the Black- 
borough farm. Have you made inquiries about this 
Harley who wants to lease it ?” 

‘‘Yes, my Lord,” said Sherwald, quietly. “If you 


236 


SHERWALD ON THE RIGHT TRACK. 


will excuse me, I will speak first of what is most prom- 
inent in my mind. My friend, the barrister I alluded to 
in my conversation with you the other day, has Mr. 
Desmond’s address, and on receiving your inclosure I 
went around to his chambers with your letter to your 
young kinsman. By a strange coincidence, I found Mr. 
Desmond in the barrister’s office.” 

At this juncture the door of the library opened and 
Conyers came sauntering in. When he beheld 
Sherwald, he muttered an apology for his intrusion, and 
turned to depart, but Lord Hawkhurst bade him remain. 

I have a little matter of business I wish to talk with 
you about, Conyers,” said the earl. Mr. Sherwald, this 
is Rollyn Conyers, Esq., the heir of my title and prop- 
erty. Conyers, let me introduce to you Mr. Sherwald, 
our family solicitor, the chief manager of my estates, 
and my greatly valued friend.” 

The darkly handsome face of Conyers, with that 
nameless charm and fascination about it, to which we 
have heretofore alluded, made a striking impression 
upon the keen-eyed solicitor. 

^‘It has been represented to me that your income is 
inadequate to your wants, Conyers,” said the earl, as 
the young man sat down with easy grace and a loung- 
ing attitude, and I had some conversation with Sher- 
wald upon the matter the other day, and have arrived 
at a decision which, I trust, may meet your approval. 
I believe that your own income amounts to eight 
hundred a year.” 

‘‘ Precisely, sir.” 

Mrs. Conyers has a handsome fortune,” pursued the 
earl, “but I can quite understand your reluctance to 
live upon her money. I might get you a position under 
government where your natural abilities would find 


SHERWALD ON THE RIGHT TRACK. 


237 


play, and you would gain both honor and money. 
What would you say to that ?” 

‘‘I should decline it,” said Conyers, earnestly. ‘^No 
money could recompense me for being tied to an office. 
I’d rather be my own master.” 

I am not afraid of work,” said Lord Hawkhurst, 
gravely. ‘‘I doubt if many laboring men in the king- 
dom work harder than I. But I shall not urge you into 
any course. I have only to say that I will give you a 
thousand pounds a year. That sum, added to your 
eight hundred, makes a very respectable income, espe- 
cially as Mrs. Conyers has ten thousand a year in her 
own right. Is this satisfactory ?” 

Now in truth it was not. Lord Hawkhurst had thirty 
thousand a year of clear, unencumbered income, besides 
houses in town and country, and one thousand a year 
only to his declared heir seemed to Conyers paltry and 
mean, the more especially as he secretly bore in mind 
that his wife’s pretensions were all baseless, that she 
had no private income whatever, and that her extrava- 
gances must be paid for by him out of a sum supposed 
to provide only for his own. 

It is satisfactory,” said the young man, a little sul- 
lenly. “You are very kind. Lord Hawkhurst, but, after 
all, eighteen hundred a year seems small.” 

“ I consider the income you will have ample, consider- 
ing that you will have only yourself to provide for,” 
said the earl somewhat sternly. “ Mrs. Conyers has a 
magnificent home, and keeps her own carriage, and pays 
her own milliner. If you cannot pay your tailor, and keep 
a hunter and your own private single brougham out of 
your income, I shall be unable to assist you further at 
present. When you stand in my place you may have my 
income. While I am Earl of Hawkhurst I intend to keep 


238 SHEKWALD ON THE RIGHT TRACK. 

up the dignity in suitable style. I hope you understand 
me.*' 

I am certainly very grateful, my Lord," said Conyers, 
more gracefully, conscious that the lawyer was watching 
him. ‘‘ I am sorry if I have appeared dissatisfied. In 
truth, I am delighted. In what way am I to obtain this 
income ?" 

I shall pay it out "of my own pocket, half-yearly. I 
will give you five hundred pounds to-day." 

He sat down at his desk and drew a check for the 
amount named and handed it to Conyers, who took it 
with a flushing cheek and a look of annoyance. 

‘‘ Is not this too much after the manner of paying one's 
tradesmen, my Lord ?" asked the young man. Suppose 
I were to be out of England, or you were to be ill, how 
then shall I obtain this sum semi-annually ?" 

I will make provision for it. Hereafter it will come 
to you regularly through Sherwald’s hands. He will 
remit it to you without your application for it. The 
subject grows unpleasant. Let us drop it." 

Conyers bowed, and stuffed the check in his pocket. 
The sparkle in his eyes and the flush on his cheeks told 
plainly of his secret rage, but he was wise enough to 
restrain all expression of it in words. 

We were talking, as you came in, of Desmond," said 
the earl. “ So you met Desmond to-day, Sherwald ? 
Did he send a reply to my letter by you, or must he first 
consult his bride before he can appoint a day to dine 
with us ?’* 

Mr. Desmond was in serious trouble," said the solic- 
itor. He looked wild and haggard. He had run in 
to see his friend for the purpose of obtaining his advice." 

In trouble ?" cried the earl. Had his widow jilted 
him at the last minute ?" 


SHERWALD ON THE RIGHT TRACK. 


239 


“ No ; they were married yesterday ; but as they 
entered their carriage at the church-door, Desmond's 
bride fainted dead away in his arms, and she did not 
revive until after her return home — " 

H-m ! That’s queer !" interrupted Lord Hawkhurst. 
“Why, Conyers and Mrs. Conyers happened by a singu- 
lar chance to see the pair as they came out of the church, 
and neither of them spoke of her fainting. Conyers, 
had she fainted when you saw her ?” 

Conyers muttered a negative. 

“ It was very sudden,” said the lawyer ; and he told 
as much as he knew of Beryl’s disappearance. 

“ Desmond tracked her,” he said, “ to Westminster 
Bridge. He has discovered that she sat for an hour upon 
that bridge, and the policeman who was on that beat 
last night says that she meant to destroy her life, but 
that he drove her off the bridge, advising her to go 
home. The young lady seen by the policeman answers 
to Mrs. Desmond’s description in every particular, even 
to the costume. The policeman says she went over to 
the Surrey side, and he lost sight of her. He thinks she 
may have kept along the river till she gained Blackfriar’s 
Bridge, and then flung herself over.” 

“ Poor Desmond !” said the earl, forgetting his former 
anger against our hero. “ Poor fellow ! Go to him, 
Sherwald, and tell him how I sympathize with him. 
Advise him to set all the police upon the track of his 
fever-stricken wife. My purse is at his disposal. If they 
find her, let them bring Mrs. Desmond here. Poor girl ! 
Poor Desmond ! Let our business go for to-night, 
Sherwald, and find Desmond. Leave me his address, 
and I’ll see him myself in the morning.” 


240 


A BAD LOOK-OUT FOE CONYERS. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

A BAD LOOK-OUT FOR CONYERS. 

Upon the morning succeeding the receipt of his 
instructions, Sherwald visited the barrister, to whom 
repeated allusion had been made, and obtained Des- 
mond’s address in Wells street. 

In sad contrast with his surroundings, was the deso- 
late figure of Desmond. The young man had recently 
come in, and had flung himself upon a low couch which 
he had found drawn up before the fire. At Sherwald’s 
entrance, Desmond raised himself, and turned toward 
the intruder a thin, white face, in which burned two 
haggard eyes — a face so worn and sharpened with 
anxiety and grief, that Beryl herself might scarcely have 
recognized it. 

The young man arose with difficulty, yet with an 
instinctive courtesy that could not desert him even in 
his misery. He had not undressed nor slept since 
Beryl’s disappearance, and was physically exhausted. 

‘‘ I am Mr. Sherwald, Lord Hawkhurst’s solicitor,” said 
the visitor. I am come to you from the earl. Pray 
lie down again, Mr. Desmond. I shall go at once if you 
do not.” 

Desmond uttered some faint words of apology and 
sank back upon his couch, again motioning his visitor 
to be seated. 

Sherwald drew a chair to the corner of the hearth, 
where he would be in full view of his host, and sat 
down. 


A BAD LOOK-OUT FOR CONYERS. 


241 


‘‘ Lord Hawkhurst has heard of your marriage, Mr. 
Desmond,” he said, plunging into the subject at once, 

and also of the sad affliction that has followed it. He 
desires me to offer to you his hearty sympathy, and he 
begs you to use his purse as if it were your own in prose- 
cuting your search for the missing lady.'' 

The tone and manner of the solicitor were full of 
respectful sympathy. 

Desmond’s lips quivered. 

‘‘ He is very kind,” he said. “ I have no need of 
money, but I thank him for his kindness.” 

‘‘ Have you found no clew to Mrs. Desmond yet ?” 
asked the solicitor. 

“ None — none !” 

“I have heard something of the sad story from our 
mutual friend Mr. Dallas, in whose office I saw you yes- 
terday morning,” said the solicitor, gently. “ I am 
come here as your friend, Mr. Desmond, and as Lord 
Hawkhurst’s friend, and not as an inquisitive curiosity- 
seeker. If I can be of any assistance to you, I beg you 
to command me.” 

The gentleness of Sherwald’s manner, the genuine air 
of sympathy, touched Desmond’s tortured heart. 

I cannot think that she is dead,” he said, ‘‘and yet 
she was wild with fever, and may have flung herself 
into the river while in a paroxysm of delirium. But if 
she is not dead, think of her wandering alone, sick with 
fever, helpless, beautiful, friendless ! We have searched 
the hospitals — every place where she might be — but 
from the moment in which she crept away from West- 
minster Bridge, at the rough command of the policeman, 
all trace of her seems lost !” 

“ Is it not strange that a fever should come upon her 
so suddenly ?” 


2i2 


A BAD LOOK-OUT FOR CONYERS. 


Perhaps so. She was herself at the church, and I 
saw no indication of approaching illness then. She has 
been a daily governess, ill-paid and overworked. The 
excitement of the marriage proved too much for her and 
precipitated her illness.” 

“ Could she have had any possible reason for flight ?” 
asked Mr. Sherwald, gravely. “ Pardon me, Mr. Des- 
mond. Don’t be offended. Every possibility should be 
considered in a case like this. Was there any mystery 
in her life ? Was there any one of whom she was 
afraid ?” 

‘‘ She had no one to fear — no one. She was a mere 
child in years — only just seventeen — but she was a 
widow. Her first marriage had been unhappy. She 
was educated in Switzerland. Last June she became 
acquainted with a young Englishman, and married him 
at Geneva in August. In September he lost his life in 
attempting an ascent of Monte Rosa. She never wore 
mourning for him. She had not really loved him. She 
knew no one in England, had no enemies, and her flight 
is to be explained only upon the grounds of brain fever.” 

Sherwald was thoughtful. 

Did she take anything with her ?” he asked. 

Nothing — not even her dressing-bag ! I hope you 
may be able to help me to some light on this subject,” 
said Desmond, wearily. My brain is all confused. 
Come with me up to her room, Mr. Sherwald. Every- 
thing is as she left it. You shall see that even her 
jewelry is there, and you will comprehend, as I do, that 
her flight was but an impulse of her fever. Come.” 

Desmond arose and took up a lamp from his table 
and led the way up-stairs. He had the key of Beryl’s 
room in his pocket ^nd unlocked her door and ushered 
Sherwald in. 


A BAD LOOK-OUT FOR CONYERS. 


243 


The alcove in which stood the bed was shut off by the 
glazed doors. The grate was empty The room was 
chilly and desolate. One trunk, strapped and labeled, 
stood near the door. The dressing-bag — a wedding-gift 
to Beryl from Desmond — stood on the table. Another 
trunk stood open in the center of the room to receive the 
wedding-garments. The wedding-robe was thrown 
upon a sofa in a careless heap. In the tray of the open 
trunk was the brief remnant of the jewelry that had 
belonged to Beryl’s mother, and which had been given 
to Beryl by her uncle, William Star, upon the occasion 
of her memorable visit to Starwood. Some of this 
jewelry had been sold to procure the garments necessary 
for Beryl’s second marriage, but a few pieces still 
remained. 

“ Is her purse gone ?” asked the solicitor. 

“ It’s on the table, empty,” said Desmond. 

Beryl’s old pocket-book, indeed, lay there. She had 
procured a new one before her second marriage, the old 
one being too shabby for further use ; and, as has been 
explained, the new pocket-book, with over forty pounds 
in money in it, had been in the pocket of her travelling- 
suit when she had fled. 

Sherwald examined the empty purse, and wandered 
about the room, examining object after object. He 
came to the open trunk, and having asked permission, 
looked over the little store of jewels. 

“ She would not have left these if her flight had been 
premeditated,” he thought. Of course, the poor girl, 
in a paroxysm of brain -fever, went and drowned her- 
self.” 

There was a set of silver filigree jewelry, broken and 
discolored, as it had come to Beryl. It was of small 
value now, save as a memento. But the article of most 


244 


A BAD LOOK-OUT FOR CONYERS. 


importance was a necklace of gold beads in tiny cubes, 
each cube set with a minute diamond spark. The clasp 
was set with a large gem of the purest water. The 
ornament was very quaint and peculiar, and attracted 
Sherwald's keen attention. 

He turned it over in his hands, seeking to find an 
inscription upon the clasp, or amid the delicate engrav- 
ing covering each golden cube, but he found none. Des- 
mond did not heed his absorption, having covered his 
face with his hands. 

‘‘Was this a gift to Mrs. Desmond from you, sir?” 
asked Sherwald, at last, holding up the necklace on his 
hand. 

Desmond started and looked up, shaking his head. 

“ I never saw it before,” he said, hollowly, and hid his 
face again. 

“ Will you lend it to me for a day or two ?” asked the 
solicitor, eagerly. “ I will return it soon.” 

Desmond nodded assent. 

Sherwald rolled up the necklace in a bit of paper, and 
stowed it in his pocket. The two presently returned to 
Desmond's rooms. They had scarcely done so, when 
the postman's knock was heard, and the housemaid 
came hurrying up with a letter for Mr. Desmond. 

Sherwald took it at the door, and delivered it to his 
host. The young man took it idly, glanced at the 
address, and sprang up as if galvanized, his face flushed 
and wild. 

“From her! From her!” he ejaculated. “She is 
not dead !” 

He tore open the letter, and devoured its contents. 

“ Not dead ! Oh, what an exquisite relief !” he said, 
when he had read it again and again. “ It is as I 
thought. She wandered away in her fever. She meant 


A BAD LOOK-OUT FOR CONYERS. 


245 


to kill herself, but did not. She has a vagary of her 
fever still, but she says she has found shelter. Oh, my 
darling, my love, my wife, where is she V* 

He gave the letter into the solicitor’s hands, and began 
to pace the floor in a wild excitement. 

Sherwald read the letter attentively, every faculty 
sharpened to keenness.- He saw no vagary of fever in 
that profound despair of Beryl’s. He started when he 
read that she had seen her husband, whom she had 
believed dead, at the very door of the church, after her 
marriage to Desmond. His face changed color when he 
read the name of Vane Conroy, as the name of her first 
husband. 

“ Poor child ! My poor, fever-stricken little wife !” 
said Desmond, in an agony of yearning. You see her 
chimera ! She had worked too hard and had not been 
well nourished. She fell ill from over-excitement, and 
doubtless fancied that her first husband had come back 
from his grave to reproach her for her too speedy mar- 
riage with another ! Where can she have found refuge ? 
Has some good Samaritan taken her in ? Or is she in 
evil hands ? I must go to the police-station at once 
with this new clew.” 

He seized his hat as he spoke. 

‘‘ Wait,” said Sherwald, pityingly. “ My dear Mr. 
Desmond, you go upon the ground that your — that this 
lady is delirious. Let us talk the matter over. Did she 
see her husband buried after his death ?” 

“ No ; they never found his body. It slipped into a 
crevasse.” 

“ Ah ! Can you bear my opinion, Mr. Desmond ? — 
though it’s only my opinion. I think she is not delirious 
at all — only nearly wild with despair.” 

“ How— what ?” 


246 


A BAD LOOK-OUT FOR CONYERS. 


I think/* said Sherwald, steadily, that her former 
husband was not killed in Switzerland — that he counter- 
feited death to be rid of her — that he was in London — 
that she has seen him !** 

Desmond dropped into a chair, weak as one dying. 

There was water on the table. The solicitor filled a 
glass and placed it to the young. man’s lips. 

‘‘ Leave me,” said Desmond, in a whisper. “ I want 
to be alone.” 

Sherwald longed to utter words of comfort, but here 
he was dumb. He stole out of the room softly, as from 
the presence of a dying man. 

He returned in his cab to his own law-chambers, in a 
wide court off High Holborn, and very near to Lincoln’s 
Inn Fields. A tall, lank clerk was standing upright, 
and was hard at work copying folios. He looked up at 
his employer’s entrance, bowed respectfully, answered a 
few questions, and resumed his work. 

Mr. Sherwald threw off his hat and overcoat, warmed 
his hands at the dull fire, and said : 

“ If Lord Hawkhurst should drop in, show him into 
my private room, Hallet. I will see no one else to- 
day.” 

The solicitor passed into the adjoining room, stirred 
up his fire, walked around his room once or twice, and 
then sat down at his desk and proceeded to examine 
anew and at his leisure the peculiar necklace Desmond 
had lent him. 

I thought last night that Conyers had some secret 
interest in this mystery of Mrs. Desmond,” he muttered. 

What if Vane Conroy, the man who was supposed to 
have perished on Monte Rosa, should be Rollyn Dane 
Conyers, the future Earl of Hawkhurst ? Is the idea 
too improbable ? Let me think. Conyers was on the 


A BAD LOOK-OUT FOR CONYERS. 


247 


Continent when Lord Hawkhurst summoned him to 
England. He was at Geneva. He must have received 
the earl's letter about a week before the supposed death 
of ‘Vane Conroy.' The earl confided to me his plans 
concerning the disposal of Hawks' Cliff. He intended 
to make that one of his two young kinsmen his heir 
who should marry the heiress of Cragthorpe, and so 
unite that estate to Hawks' Cliff. Suppose he men- 
tioned that intention in his letter to Conyers ? Suppose 
Conyers conceived then the idea of ridding himself of 
his young wife — taking it for granted that Mrs. Des- 
mond was his wife — and so planned his pretended 
death. She believed in his death. He came to Eng- 
land, won the heiress, married her. His wife, thinking 
herself a widow, marries Desmond. But how happens 
it that Desmond never suspected Conroy and Conyers 
to be the same ? It was Conyers whom Mrs. Desmond 
saw at the church door. She fainted at sight of him. 
By Jove ! I've found the very heart of this mystery !" 

“The necklace is old," he said, a little later, arousing 
himself by an effort. “ It must have been in Conyers' 
family a long time. I wonder if Lord Hawkhurst would 
recognize it. He used to know Conyers' father well in 
their youth, and may have seen this very necklace in 
his possession. The proud heiress of Cragthorpe has a 
bitter humiliation in store for her. And as to Mrs. 
Desmond, where is she ? Can she have taken refuge in 
Conyers' protection ? He is her husband." 

Greatly perplexed and troubled, the solicitor pondered 
the case, going over it incident by incident, putting 
hitherto unconsidered facts together, until a network of 
circumstantial evidence had become inextricably woven 
about Dane Conyers, and he had no longer the faintest 
doubt of Conyers' guilt. 


248 


A BAD LOOK-OUT FOR CONYERS. 


About the middle of the afternoon, while he still sat 
in a brown study, Lord Hawkhurst was ushered in. 

The solicitor sprang up and greeted his employer, and 
assisted him to remove his great-coat. 

The earl accepted a seat. 

‘‘Have you seen Desmond to-day?*' he asked, 
abruptly. 

“Yes, my Lord. I found him at his lodgings." 

“ Has he found his wife ?" 

“ No, my Lord ; but he got a letter from her while I 
was there. It seems she is safe somewhere ; she did 
not say where." 

The earl knitted his brows together fiercely. 

“You don’t mean that the girl is an adventuress, and 
has been making a fool of Desmond ?" he demanded, 
sharply. 

“ No, sir. She supposed herself a widow, and is a 
good, honest woman, I dare say, else Desmond would 
not go mad about her. She is but a young ^hing, only 
seventeen. She was supposed to be a widow since last 
October, but the truth is, as I understand it," said the 
solicitor, “ her worthless husband is not dead, but has 
turned up again." 

“ Then Desmond has married a woman with a hus- 
band living !" 

“That seems to be the truth, my Lord." 

“ Poor fellow. We must have him up at Hawkhurst 
House, at once. Conyers and Octavia must cheer him 
up ! He must not be allowed to blight his career by 
running away and hiding himself in some foreign coun- 
try, as he’ll be apt to do. The woman must have been 
in great haste to marry again, upon my soul ! What 
was her first husband ? A gentleman, or a coster- 
monger ?’* 


A BAD LOOK-OUT FOR CONYERS. 


249 


“He called himself a gentleman, no doubt,”, said 
Sherwald, who was in no mind to declare to Lord 
Hawkhurst the entire truth concerning Dane Conyers 
until he could prove every charge he should make. 

“The thing must be kept out of the newspapers,” said 
the earl. “ Don’t let the rascally reporters get hold of 
it, or there’ll be no end to the scandal. Desmond has 
picked his pearl up out of the gutter, indeed, and has 
fallen into the gutter himself ! I believe the woman is 
a designing creature, just what you called Mrs. Con- 
yers, you remember. Poor Desmond ! Sherwald, I 
have a good mind to double that thousand a year I set 
down in my will for Desmond. Poor devil ! He 
doesn’t deserve his ill-fortune. Get me my will.” 

The solicitor unlocked the great door of the safe. 
The upper half of the interior of the huge receptacle 
was divided into pigeon-holes, which were all appro- 
priately labeled. From one of these holes he drew out 
the will of the earl which had been so recently executed. 

Lord Hawkhurst broke the seals of the envelope and 
glanced over the document. He was dissatisfied, he 
hardly knew why. 

“ I’ll make a new will altogether,” he said, thought- 
fully. “ Of course, Conyers is to be my heir ; but I 
like Desmond, and I would like to make better pro- 
vision for him. Sherwald, I’ll will him Hawberry 
Grange. That’s worth two thousand a year, and is a 
gentlemati’s residence, worthy even a Desmond. Draw 
up an entirely new document precisely like this, with 
that single change in regard to Desmond. As to this — ” 

He leaned over the high wire guard and laid the 
document upon the fire. It blazed up and burned to 
ashes. 

Sherwald started ; then drew a breath of relief. 


250 


A BAD LOOK-OUT FOR CONYERS. 


I wish, my Lord,*' he said, earnestly, that in the 
new will you would place the name of Noble Desmond 
as your heir.*' 

And have this scandal of his perpetuated to all 
futurity?” scoffed the earl. ‘‘No, sir. No man with 
any stain upon his name shall inherit Hawks* Cliff by 
my consent. The future owner of my estates must not 
only be a man of honor — Desmond is that — but he must 
be one whom no breath of scandal has touched, whose 
life is spotless, whose marriage is an honor to his 
family. See Desmond again. Tell him to get rid of 
this woman. We must marry him off to some noble 
lady, and settle him at Hawberry Grange. People will 
then forget this escapade of his ; for a marriage with a 
woman whose antecedents are not known is an escapade. 
Draw up the new will, Sherwald, and Pll sign it at my 
leisure. There's no hurry. I shall live fifty years yet, 
perhaps. But Desmond can have Hawberry to live on 
as soon as he marries to suit me.” 

The earl watched the blue thin ghost of the burnt will 
flicker on the coals, and then turned away and paced 
the room. Sherwald went back to his safe. 

Suddenly Lord Hawkhurst gave a great cry and 
bounded forward, clutching at the necklace upon the 
solicitor's desk. The earl’s face was purple, his eyes 
starting, his breathing stertorous. Sherwald hastened 
to him thinking him threatened with apoplexy. 

“This — this ?” gasped the earl, shaking the necklace. 
“Whose? Where?” 

He sat down trembling and weak. 

“That ?” said the amazed solicitor. “ That — I think 
her first husband gave it to her. You recognized it, 
my Lord ?” 

“ Whose ? Whose is it ?” 


AT THE EMBROIDERY SHOP. 


251 


Hers — the woman with two husbands, my Lord. It 
belongs to Desmond's wife !" 

To Desmond’ s wife. Then let it be your first task, 
Sherwald, to find Desmond’s wife ! Merciful Father ! 
What does it all mean ? Desmond’s wife ? Desmond’s !” 

The earl stuffed the necklace into his pocket. He 
asked presently for a little brandy, which Sherwald 
gave him. Then he went away, grim and impenetrable, 
with a mighty shadow on his brow. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

AT THE EMBROIDERY SHOP. 

Beryl lost no time in seeking something to do. Upon 
the morning following her establishment at Portchester 
Villas she sought Miss Cavanagh’s advice and assistance 
as to her future. 

I can teach French, Italian, German and English,” 
she said, “ as well as drawing, music and embroidery. 
I would like to get a situation as a daily governess.” 

Sure, and you ought to get a paying one with those 
accomplishments,” said Miss Cavanagh. Why don’t 
you advertise in the Times, child, which all the rich 
people take ? I’ll let the housemaid take down the 
advertisement.” 

Thus counseled, Beryl wrote a modest little advertise- 
ment and procured its insertion in the “ Thunderer.” 

Pending its appearance, she procured materials — satin, 
gold thread and silk flosses — and set to work at embroi- 


252 AT THE EMBROIDERY SHOP. 

dery. The advertisement brought in no application for 
her services, and another notice was sent into the Times 
seeking employment at sewing and embroidery. This 
also met with no response. 

Beryl worked for five days, early and late, upon her 
sofa-cushion. She had made the design herself. It con- 
sisted of a wreath of white lilies upon a pale-blue satin 
ground, each lily exquisitely embroidered, and with long 
golden stamens, that added great effect to the whole 
picture. Beryl folded it carefully in linen and tissue 
paper and set out to dispose of it. 

At length, she paused before the plate-glass window 
of a shop in Regent street, devoted to ladies* fancy- 
work and the materials therefor. 

There was a carriage standing before the door, with 
coachman and footmen in livery, but Beryl did not 
notice it. She pushed open the door. A lady was 
sitting at the counter, attended by two obsequious shop- 
women. Beryl passed on a few paces and sat down, 
trembling a little and nervous. 

The lady was of a rather large frame, dark, with hard 
black eyes, and a severe compression of the lips. She 
was handsome after a bold but unlovely type. Her fore- 
head was nearly hidden under a short fringe of crimped 
hair, which nearly reached her eyebrows. She was very 
fashionably attired in a long, dark-blue velvet carriage- 
dress, and tunic trimmed with silver fox-fur. Her hands 
were ungloved and sparkled with jewels. Her hat was 
worn far back on her head, and was of dark-blue velvet, 
with a mass of nodding plumes. Her eyebrows were 
visibly penciled by the hands of art ; belladonna had 
been employed to give luster to her eyes ; and the flush 
on her cheek was due to the skill of the chemist. 

This lady was Octavia Conyers, 


AT THE EMBROIDERY SHOP. 


253 


And so met the two wives of Rollyn Dane Conyers! 

The one poor, forsaken, wronged, seeking to earn her 
bread, the other disdainful, supercilious, scheming and 
wicked, hastening to spend money upon which she had 
no righteous claim. 

The one was light, the other was darkness. The one 
was good and pure, the other full of deceit and wicked- 
ness. And both were wives of the same man I They 
were to Conyers his good and evil angels. And he had 
forsaken his good angel and cleaved to his evil angel,' 
and what was to be the end, God alone knew. 

No subtle instinct warned these two women of the 
singular relationship between them. Octavia was look- 
ing at embroideries. She had bought some Berlin work 
for her maid to ground, but was seeking something better 
and handsomer, and was loud in her expressions of dis- 
satisfaction at what was offered her. 

Presently, one of the shopwomen approached Beryl 
and asked what she desired. 

“I have some embroidery of my own work, to sell,” 
said Beryl, in her low, cultured voice, that was clear and 
sweet and low as the trill of a bird. Will you look at 
it ?” 

Before the shopwoman could answer. Beryl displayed 
her work. The woman examined it critically and ad- 
miringly, asked the price put upon it, and shook her 
head. 

“ Let me see it,” said Octavia, imperiously. Bring 
it to me, girl.” 

Beryl did not resent the domineering tone, but with a 
perfect good-breeding came forward quietly and dis- 
played her handiwork. 

“ That suits me,” announced Octavia, aft^r ^ close ex- 


254 


AT THE EMBROIDERY SHOP. 


amination of it. I never saw better work, even in Paris. 
I will take this. What is your price ?’* 

Beryl threw back her veil. The shopwoman, offended 
at the rival merchant practicing trade in their own shop, 
drew back, and would have shown her anger but for a 
wholesome awe of Mrs. Conyers, who was their frequent 
customer, and whose rank, social position and expecta- 
tions they well knew. 

‘‘ I ought to have a guinea for the work, at the very 
least, and ten shillings for the materials — they cost me 
that,” said Beryl. 

Octavia looked up from the work, and for the first 
time obtained a view of Beryl’s face. It was very pale 
and thin and wan, with a mournful look in the haunting 
eyes, a pitiful smile on the sad, sweet mouth, but it 
reminded Octavia, nevertheless, of the proud, lovely 
face she had seen at the door of St. Just’s — the face of 
Desmond’s bride. The sun had shone on the bride’s 
bright countenance, and had lingered on her clustering 
rings of red-bronze hair. This girl had tiny, clustering 
rings of bronze-colored hair. Could it be the same girl ? 
Could this be the bride who had so strangely 
disappeared, as Octavia had been already informed ? It 
flashed upon Octavia’s mind that the girl was, indeed, 
Desmond’s missing bride. 

She reflected a moment. Her decision was rapidly 
made. 

That Conyers knew this girl she felt assured. That 
the girl’s disappearance had something to do with her 
sight of Conyers on that fatal wedding-day, she also was 
convinced. She meant to probe the mystery to the 
bottom. 

I think this work worth more than you ask,” she 


AT THE EMBROIDEKY SHOP. 


255 


said, smilingly. ‘‘ I will give you five pounds for it, and 
consider it cheap at that price.** 

Five pounds ! Beryl doubted that she heard aright, 
the more especially as Octavia*s mouth, despite its smile, 
had an expression of cruelty about it, and Octavia*s 
hard eyes glittered unpleasantly. Five golden sov- 
ereigns were counted out to Beryl from a delicate silver 
portemonnaie. The girl took them with a vague wonder 
that any one should pay her more than she asked. 

“ I want a set of chair-covers,** said Octavia. “ They 
must be very elegant. Can you design something to 
suit me ?** 

‘‘How would you like a ground of white satin, every 
chair-cover to be different ?’* asked Beryl. “ One 
should have a wreath of pale pink buds and green leaves 
on a white satin ground ; one a wreath of blue-bells ; 
one of pale pink roses ; one of fuchsias ; one of golden- 
hearted lilies ; one of reddest roses. I might improve 
on these. Would the idea please you ?’* 

“ Excellently well,** said Mrs. Conyers. “ Please go at 
the work at once. When one is done, bring it to me at 
Hawkhurst House, Park Lane.** 

Octavia took up the embroidery she had bought, 
made a few further purchases of the shopwomen, thus 
soothing their ruffled feelings, and then moved toward 
the door. Beryl had accepted her tacit dismissal, and 
had already passed out at the door, and was halting a 
moment on the step. 

“ I will take an omnibus home,** she thought. “ I feel 
tired. How generous the lady was ! I am sure to earn 
my living now, and lay up money against sickness and 
old age.** 

She moved out upon the walk and stood at its outer 
edge, watching for the proper omnibus to convey her 


256 


HUSBAND AND WIFE. 


home. Her veil was still thrown back that her sight 
might not be impeded. As she thus stood, looking into 
the roadway, Dane Conyers, coming up the street to 
rejoin Octavia, beheld her. He knew her on the 
instant, despite her black garments. 

“Beryl, as I live!” he muttered. “And there’s the 
Hawkhurst carriage. Octavia can’t be far off. What a 
frightful risk I She might see Beryl. Ah !” 

Beryl signaled an omnibus, and waited for it to draw 
up at the curbstone. In the same moment Conyers 
signaled a four-wheeled cab, ordered the driver to keep 
the omnibus in sight, and follow the lady in black when 
she should alight. Beryl entered the omnibus and went 
on her way, and Conyers in the cab, his coat-collar 
drawn up around his face, followed after her. 

“ I must see her !” he muttered, uneasily. “ She has 
run away from Desmond. She must have informed her- 
self about me by this time. She knows just who I am. 
She may mean to go to Lord Hawkhurst and expose me. 
I must have an interview with her, and learn on what 
terms she will keep silence !” 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

HUSBAND AND WIFE. 

Unconscious of pursuit. Beryl alighted from the 
omnibus in the neighborhood of Kensington Gardens 
and continued her journey on foot. Dane Conyers 
alighted from his cab, also, at a convenient corner, 
dismissed the vehicle, drew down his hat to shade his 


HUSBAND AND WIFE. 


257 


brows, drew up his coat-collar still higher, and walked 
on slowly, keeping the girl’s slender, graceful figure 
well in view. 

Beryl did not look around as she rang the garden-bell 
at No. 5 Portchester Villas. The servant Kate gave her 
admittance. Conyers at last approached the garden- 
door of No. 5, and boldly rang the bell. 

Kate appeared in response to his summons. 

‘‘ I have called,” said Conyers, hesitatingly, uncertain 
by what name to speak of Beryl, to see a cousin of mine 
whom I understood to stopping here. She was a Miss 
Star, but — ” 

“Oh, it’s Miss Star you’r wanting to see, is it?” 
interrupted Kate, catching at the name. “ If she’s your 
cousin, sir, of course you can see her. She’s at home. 
Come in, sir.” 

She opened the gate and he passed in. She conducted 
him into the house, and would have ushered him into 
the drawing-room, but he drew back. 

“ Don’t let me trouble you, my good woman,” he said, 
politely, removing his hat and turning down his coat- 
collar. “ I will run up to my cousin’s room, if you 
please. Just tell me which one it is, and I’ll find it by 
myself and give my cousin a pleasant surprise.” 

The girl hesitated a moment. It did not seem to her 
quite proper that the young gentleman should go up to 
Beryl’s room ; but then, he was her cousin, he said, and 
a cousin is surely a near relation. Unfortunately, Miss 
Cavanagh was not in the house. Kate’s doubts were 
suddenly set at rest by Conyers, who placed a half- 
crown in her hand. 

“ It’s the third floor front, thank you kindly, sir,” said 
she, courtesying. 

Conyers glided up the stairs. At Beryl’s door he 


258 


HUSBAND AND WIFE. 


paused a moment, then turned the knob and entered. 
He locked the door softly. As the bolt shot home 
with a gentle click, Beryl turned her head and saw him. 
For one breathless moment she stood as if transfixed. 
Her face whitened, her eyes dilated, and a look of 
mingled terror and horror stiffened her features. 

‘‘ Dane !” she said, in a hollow whisper. 

‘‘ Yes,’' he said, trying to speak lightly. ‘‘You don’t 
seem glad to see me, Beryl. Is this your welcome to 
your husband ? Is that mourning garb for me ?” 

“ For you !” she said, with a shudder, clinging to the 
back of a chair, her voice quivering with a bitter scorn. 

For you ! Why should I wear mourning for you ? I 
am not likely to wear mourning for a man whose true 
name I do not even know.” 

Conyers’s heart gave a quick, exultant leap. 

What ! She did not even know his name ! Then she 
could not have told Desmond her story ! She had 
imposed upon Desmond some fictitious tale concerning 
a “ Vane Conroy,” perhaps. She was not dangerous as 
he had feared. His wdly, scheming brainuomprehended 
the entire situation, and mapped out a course upon the 
instant which he believed might save him yet. 

“Is this my welcome back to life?” he asked, 
reproachfully. “ Is it for this I escaped death ? 
Instead of receiving me with open arms, as I expected, 
you treat me as your enemy.” 

“ What are you but my enemy ?” 

“ Why are you so cold and cruel to me. Beryl ? What 
have I done to offend you ? Why has your love for me 
turned to hatred ?” 

Beryl’s face flashed scorn upon him. 

“You ask me that?” she demanded. “After that 
scene in the garden of the Villa Belvoir, when you flung 


HUSBAND AND WIFE. 


259 


me from you in your fury at the discovery of my 
obscure birth and my poverty ? After your desertion 
of me — after your pretended death on Monte Rosa — 
after those revelations of your true nature in your diary? 
You have scorned me, hated me, wronged me, deserted 
me, pretended that you were dead, that you might be 
rid of me — and yet you ask me why I do not receive 
you with open arms ? I never knew before how poor 
and pitiful a man’s soul could be.” 

Her slender figure was drawn up ; her splendid eyes 
were full of fire ; her glorious face was full of proud 
and passionate bitterness. A thrill of admiration went 
through Conyers’s breast, and his old love for her was 
quickened to new ardor. 

There is some mistake here. Beryl,” he said, quietly. 
‘‘ I have been base and cruel, but if any man ever 
repented his faults I have repented mine. Hear me. 
Beryl. Let me speak in my own defense. When I left 
you at the Villa Belvoir, I was half-mad with disappoint- 
ment. I hurried away to Geneva, intending to return 
to you when I should have become reconciled to my lot. 
I could not return to you while any of my anger 
remained. And so it happened that I made that excur- 
sion to Monte Rosa, hoping to find in the excitement of 
travel my old tranquility of mind. I own all my faults, 
the baseness of those entries in the diary, my weakness, 
my follies, my reverence for birth and rank, my love of 
money — I confess to all these. Beryl, but I deny that I 
ever pretended death.” 

‘‘ You — deny — it ?” 

“I do. I made the ascent of Monte Rosa with Hup- 
lick, my valet. In descending, I made a misstep and 
went whirling downward and fell headlong into an 
opening among the rocks known as the ‘ Devil’s Chinx- 


260 


HUSBAND AND WIFE. 


ney.* I caught upon a projecting rock only a few feet 
below the mouth of the fissure, but Huplick must have 
been frightened out of his senses, for he did not even 
stop to rescue me, but hurried off to Zermatt for assist- 
ance. I crept out of the opening after long struggles 
and toils, which even now I cannot bear to recall. I was 
bruised and bleeding, more dead than alive, in good 
truth. Some time the next day I reached a rude Alpine 
hut and fell senseless on its threshold. And then con- 
sciousness failed me, and I never knew more until three 
months later. I had been ill during all that period^ 
nursed by rude and incompetent peasantry, who had 
retarded rather than helped my recovery. But life and 
strength and memory came back at last by degrees and 
slowly. I found that I was in an Italian cMlet^ out of 
the usual routes of tourists, and the people who had 
nursed me had been too ignorant to make any effort to 
find my friends.” 

He wiped his brow as if his recollections were most 
harrowing to his soul. 

‘^A month ago I made my way back to Geneva,” he 
resumed, “ and found that I was believed to be dead. 
The newspapers had narrated my accident and chroni- 
cled my supposed death. I hastened to the Villa Bel- 
voir, but it was tenanted by an English family. I could 
find no trace of you, and none of Huplick. I went to 
Bassett’s pensionnat ; you were not there. I heard from 
some one at Vevay that you were gone to England. I 
hurried here. I have searched London for you, and 
came upon you at last by accident one week ago. At 
last, my wife, we are re-united, never more to be sepa- 
rated ! Forgive me. Beryl, for all my faults and follies. 

I have arisen from my sick-bed a better man. I will 
be henceforth all that you can desire.” 


HUSBAND AND WIFE. 


261 


He arose and approached her with open arms. 

‘‘ Back !’* she said, retreating before him. 

“ Beryl — my wife !” 

“ You have told your story,” said Beryl, ** and it may 
be all true. God forgive me for doubting you if it is. 
What is your real name ?” 

“ Vane Conroy.” 

‘‘You married me, then, under an assumed name. Our 
marriage was not legal.” 

“Yes it was. You believed it to be my name, and the 
fact that no fraud was intended renders the marriage 
legal. Any book of law will tell you that. I acknowl- 
edge you as my true and lawful wife. I love you, and I 
beg you to forgive my wickedness. Think what I have 
suffered.” 

Again he essayed to approach her. 

“Back!” she said again, with a gesture of command. 
“ I have something to say to you. Our past is dead. I 
can never be to you again what I was once. I never 
loved you — never. It was but a girlish fancy I felt for 
you, and that fancy — which you might have quickened 
into love — died long ago. Since I came to England I 
have found what true nobility in man really is. I have 
loved — I have married. When you and I met the other 
day by the little church of St. Just, I was just from my 
second bridal, and he upon whose arm I leaned was the 
man I had just married.” 

“Married ! Married I” 

. Conyers appeared to reel under the blow. 

“ I knew you on the instant. A deadly terror griped 
at my heart. I fainted, and was taken home. I was ill 
for hours. At evening I stole out to destroy my life, but 
God saved me and brought me to this refuge.” 

“What is the name of this second husband?” 


262 


HUSBAND AND WIFE. 


‘‘His name cannot matter to you. You never knew 
him/* said Beryl. “ I do not think I could bear to hear 
his name on your lips. He is free, and I pray that he 
will soon forget me.** 

“ You did not intentionally commit bigamy,** said 
Conyers, “ but I can forgive the crime more easily than 
the speedy forgetfulness of me. I loved you — you were 
my wife — and in four or five months after my supposed 
death you married again. I am punished for all my 
faults.** 

He bowed his head as in sorrow. Beryl's pale coun- 
tenance did not change. 

Presently Mr. Conyers seemed to revive a little and to 
recover a share of hopefulness. 

“ We have both erred,** he said ; “ you have committed 
bigamy — a crime that is punished with penal servitude 
— and I have been harsh, wayward, wicked. Your 
fault brings us nearer together. You can no longer 
stand afar off upon the heights of your solemn virtue. 
You must come back to me, for, notwithstanding your 
second marriage, notwithstanding all that has come 
between us, you are my true and lawful wife.** 

Beryl shrank back before the glitter of his black eyes, 
the ‘ flaming passion of his darkly handsome face. 
He scowled blackly as he saw the signs of her 
aversion. 

“ Come back to you ?** she said. “ Never !** 

“ Is this the wife I won on Lake Leman ?** he asked 
reproachfully. “ Is this the wife who walked with me 
in the moonlight in the garden of the Villa Belvoir ? 
Then you were tender and loving ; now you seem to 
hate me. You promised to love, honor and obey me 
till death should part us. Is it thus you keep your 
vow ?’* 


HUSBAND AND WIFE. 


263 


“ Would you chain to you a woman who hates you V* 

‘‘Yes, if that woman were my wife — yourself ! The 
tie that binds husband and wife is indissoluble. We 
have both of us much to forgive, Beryl, but let us for- 
give and forget. You must make allowances for the 
faults of my education, and overlook all that has dis- 
turbed you in my conduct. And I will overlook your 
speedy forgetfulness of me, and this second marriage of 
yours, and take you back again to my arms and heart. 
Is this agreed upon ?” 

A stormy look came into the girUs eyes. 

“ No, it is not !” she said, impetuously. “ We are 
done with each other forever. Go your way, Dane, and 
leave me in peace. The only happiness I can ask for 
now is to be freed from your presence forever.’' 

“ And to be permitted to live with your second 
husband in peace ?” sneered Conyers. “ Is he here with 
you ?” 

Beryl grew pale. 

“ You know he is not,” she said, her voice quivering 
with anger and insulted virtue. “ How dare you speak 
to me like that ? Go away — go ! I pray that I may 
never see your face again.” 

“ That prayer won’t be answered,” said Conyers, 
coolly. have found you, and I shall not lose sight of 
you again. As your husband, I have a right to compel 
you to live with me, and I intend to exercise that right. 
I have a little place in Northumberland. I shall take 
you there — ” 

“ I’ll die first.” 

“ Beryl, you know not what you are saying. I am 
your husband. I love you — ” 

“ I would rather you hated me. Understand me, 
Dane, I will die before I go back to you !” cried Beryl, 


204 


HUSBA.ND AND WIFE. 


her mutinous face indescribably beautiful, and stirring 
up all his passion for her in one wild bitterness. I 
never loved you, although I thought I did. I am your 
wife, but I shall henceforth be so only in name. I 
respect the holy bond of marriage more than I can tell 
you, but I do not respect you — I do not love you. 
Believing you dead, I learned to love another. I love 
him now with all my soul, and I shall love him till I 
die ; but I shall never see him again. I shall never see 
you again either. I shall live out my life alone, apart 
from the man I love and from the man I hate. Never 
speak to me again of love, Dane Conyers.'* 

Conyers could have gnashed his teeth at her cool 
rejection of his professed repentance and his eager 
advances. Beryl seemed immovable as stone. He felt 
that his boasted fascinations were all powerless here. 
He determined that he would not give her up, that he 
would make some compromise with her to gain time, 
and to cover himself from detection and consequent 
ruin, and that he would devote every effort to the task of 
winning her back to him. 

Beryl," he said, in atone and manner whose extreme 
quietness contrasted strongly with his recent vehemence, 
‘‘ I will not use the authority which the law gives me to 
compel you to live with me. I will leave you your free- 
dom until you choose to return to me voluntarily, pro- 
vided that you will agree never to mention our marriage 
to any living soul, that you will not call yourself by my 
name, and that you will never lay any claim to your 
position as my wife." 

“ I agree to all that willingly." 

“ Swear to keep your agreement. Swear that you will 
never speak my name, nor claim to be my wife !" 

I swear it. I will never lay any claim to you, you 


HUSBAND AND WIFE. 


265 


may rest assured. I will never mention your real name 
or your assumed name, unless indeed it should become 
my imperative duty to do so, and that it will not.’* 

How could it become your imperative duty to claim 
me as your ’husband ?” 

‘‘ Have you not thought that your visit to me in my 
rooms here will make an unpleasant situation for me ? 
Miss Cavanagh thinks me a total stranger in London — ” 
That is all right. I told the servant that I was your 
cousin. Remember your oath to conceal our marriage. 
I will agree not* to force you to live with me again, pro- 
vided that you never claim to have been married to me, 
that you never seek to recognize me when we meet, 
and that you never seek to molest me in any way so long 
as we both live.” 

‘‘ I agree to all that.” 

“ I know I can trust your word. I love you still, Beryl, 
better than I ever loved you before. If you will not 
come back to me, I would still give much to shield you 
from the world. How do you support yourself ?” 

Beryl pointed to her work-basket. 

With your needle ? This must not be. I have a 
little money, an annuity that dies with me,” said Con- 
yers, falsely, and you must share it with me. A hun- 
dred pounds a year would keep you in comfort. You 
are my wife. Beryl, and cannot decline to allow me to 
support you.” 

But I do decline to allow you to support me. I will 
never take a penny of your money. I am doing ver}'^ 
well now. A noble lady at the West End has engaged 
me to do embroidery for her, and pays me liberally. I 
shall get more work through her perhaps when her order 
is finished, and shall lay up money. I will not take 
money I have not earned.” 


266 


A GLIMPSE OF THE MISSING BRIDE. 


‘‘Very well, then. Have your own way ; yet I should 
be glad to spare you all toil. Perhaps some day you 
may think more kindly of me, and will be willing to 
accept a home at my hands, even if I may not share it 
with you.’' 

He sighed heavily as he arose. He moved toward her, 
and she retreated to the window. 

“You will not even shake hands with me ?” he said, 
bitterly. “And yet I have more to pardon than you 
have ! Well, then — good-bye.” 

He bowed deeply, and hat in hand, walked slowly to 
the door. At its threshold he paused, and said, reproach- 
fully : 

“ You might have made me what you would. What- 
ever becomes of me now, the fault must lie with you. 
The wife who is recreant to her trust is more to be 
blamed than the husband who errs. May God forgive 
you. Beryl.” 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

A GLIMPSE OF THE MISSING BRIDE. 

Noble Desmond could not be persuaded to take up 
his abode at Hawkhurst House, although the earl called 
upon him in person and urged him to do so. All of 
Desmond’s faculties were engaged in a search tor Beryl. 
He refused to believe that she had seen her first hus- 
band at the door of St. Just’s church, as she had 
declared in her letter to him. He thought the idea a 
chimera of her fevered imagination. 


A GLIMPSE OF THE MISSING BRIDE. 


267 


Mr. Sherwald came often to see him, and joined 
actively in the search for Beryl, but the solicitor kept 
his own counsel jealously. He would not declare his 
belief that Vane Conroy '' and Rollyn Dane Conyers 
were one and the same person, but he did tell Desmond 
that he believed Beryl's story was true ; that she had 
seen her first husband, and that the latter was alive and 
in London. He had not since alluded to that belief in 
speaking to Desmond, but prosecuted his search with 
unceasing effort. 

After the first two or three days, Sherwald pursued his 
search alone, but came to Wells street every evening to 
compare notes with Desmond and to accompany him 
upon a stroll through the streets. The solicitor found 
himself so occupied that he had not time to prepare the 
draft of the new will Lord Hawkhurst had ordered. It 
is more than possible that Sherwald intended to defer 
the execution of the will until he should be able to prove 
to the earl that Conyers was unworthy to be his lord- 
ship's heir. 

Mrs. Margie, anxious to do something to assist in the 
recovering of the missing bride, remembered that Beryl 
had left articles of needlework on sale at a ladies' 
repository and a bazaar in Oxford street. Desmond 
seized upon this clew and followed it up, but Beryl had 
not been to either place to inquire after the results of 
her labor. A little more than a week after Beryl's dis- 
appearance, Desmond sat alone in his chambers in 
Chancery Lane. The hour was late afternoon, approach- 
ing evening. He had been hard at work since morning. 
He had heard of a mysterious young girl at Clapham, 
whose description tallied with that of Beryl. He had 
accordingly visited Clapham, spent the day in searching 
for the mysterious young lady, and had succeeded at 


268 


A GLIMPSE OF THE MISSING BRIDE. 


last in finding her, but she had proved to be a young 
actress who was in hiding from her father, and he 
had returned discouraged and disheartened. Unable to 
bear the questionings of his fellow-lodgers in Wells 
street, he had come to his chambers to spend an hour 
or two in solitude. 

The janitor had made a cheery fire in his grate, and 
its red glow lighted up the dull room. The floor was 
carpeted. The walls were lined with books. There was 
a couch at one side of the chimney, there were easy- 
chairs, a reading and a writing-desk. It was a snug little 
bachelor’s retreat. 

There was a knock upon his door. Before he could 
speak it swung open, and Dane Conyers came saunter- 
ing in. 

“ Are you here, old fellow ?” asked Conyers, with 
seeming heartiness. Oh, there you are ! Don’t rise, 
I beg. I just dropped in upon you for a few minutes. 
Lord Hawkhurst insisted upon my coming, although I 
was anxious myself to see you. You are not looking 
well.” 

‘‘ Help yourself to a chair, Conyers,” said Desmond. 

Is Mrs. Conyers well ? Is Lord Hawkhurst in good 
health ?” 

Conyers wheeled up a second lounging-chair, and 
flung himself into it in a careless attitude. 

‘‘ Mrs. Conyers is well, thank you,” he said, easily. 
‘‘I think that Lord Hawkhurst is not very well. He 
does not seem quite himself lately. I haven’t seen you 
since we were at Hawks’ Cliff Castle together, Desmond. 
What changes a few months have wrought !” 

Yes, indeed, what changes ! You are married to 
Miss Windsor of Cragthorpe, and your prospects are 
most brilliant. I — ” 


A GLIMPSE OF THE MISSING BEIDE. 


269 


“You are married, too? I have heard from. the earl 
your sad story, Desmond — how your bride was stricken 
with fever at the very altar, and wandered away from 
you in a fit of delirium. Accept my earnest sympathy. 
I am very sorry for you, Desmond.’* 

He spoke with such a seeming of sincerity as to 
touch Desmond's heart. The latter silently extended 
his hand, and Conyers grasped it fervently. 

“ It is a sad occurrence — very sad," said Conyers, sor- 
rowfully. “ Did you know her before you went to 
Hawks* Cliff ?** 

Desmond shook his head, signifying a negative. 

“ I understand that she was a widow ?** 

Yes ; and only seventeen years of age,’* said 
Desmond. “ She lost her husband by an accident, 
after a month’s marriage. He lost his life in an ascent 
of one of the Swiss Alps. Her first marriage was a sad 
affair altogether. We never talked of it. I know only 
the barest outlines of it. But I do know that her first 
husband was a villain. She never wore a mourning 
dress for him, and I am sure she did not mourn for 
him in her heart. Had circumstances been different — 
had she not been so ill-paid and hard-worked — we 
should have deferred our marriage for a year ; but even 
that small mark of respect for his memory was not 
deserved by him.’* 

“ He must have been a villain !*’ said Conyers. 
“ Poor young lady ! She was well rid of him. What 
steps have you taken to find her ?** 

Conyers’s exultation was carefully concealed in his 
own heart. He saw that Desmond had not the faintest 
suspicion that “Vane Conroy** was no other than his 
present guest. He seemed to himself to be in ambush 
— to lie hidden and unsuspected behind his screen of 


270 


A GLIMPSE OF THE MISSING BRIDE. 


fair and honest seeming. Only yesterday he had 
visited Beryl at Bayswater, and to-day he was playing 
the sympathizing friend to the man who would give all 
he owned to know Beryl’s whereabouts. 

“ I have employed a detective,” said Desmond, but 
he is not the best on the force, and I have little faith in 
him. The detective I desired to employ is up north 
engaged in working up a case. I depend most of all on 
my own exertions and on Sherwald.” 

“Sherwald ! Not Lord Hawkhurst’s solicitor.^” 

“ Yes. By the directions and wishes of the earl, Mr. 
Sherwald is working with and for me. He is a very 
sagacious man, Conyers.” 

“Yes,” said Conyers, absently. “So Sherwald is 
working with you. It’s odd — deuced odd, you know. I 
don’t like Sherwald.” 

“ He is very clever.” 

Conyers moved uneasily. The suggestion of Sher- 
wald’s cleverness was not pleasant to him. 

“ Have you issued any handbills ?” he inquired. 
“ Have you put up any placards, or anything of that 
sort ?” 

“No,” said Desmond, his fair face flushing. “We 
could not do that. There was a possibility, you see, 
Conyers, that she — Mrs. Desmond — was not delirious, 
after all, and that she is living quietly somewhere, and 
to advertise her publicly as one would advertise a strayed 
horse would not do at all.” 

“ You look tired out. My carriage is below ; let me 
take you to your lodgings. I don’t like to leave you 
moping here. Come, Desmond. You may find a letter 
there, you know.” 

The feeling which Desmond had experienced of Beryl’s 
proximity to him returned with renewed force. Con- 


A GLIMPSE OF THE MISSING BEIDE. 


271 


yers's words seemed a prophecy of good. He arose, put 
on his great-coat, and they descended the stairs together. 

Conyers set Desmond down in Wells street, and drove 
on to Park Lane. 

Desmond went up to his own rooms and lighted his 
lamp. There was no letter for him on his table. He 
locked his door, turned down his light, and sat down at 
his window, gazing down into the street. 

No one came to disturb him, his entrance into the 
house having been unnoticed, thanks to his latch-key. 
The dull twilight deepened into night. The hours wore 
on, and still Desmond did not stir. But suddenly he 
drew a quick, sharp breath, and leaned forward, his eyes 
glowing, his face whitening. 

Out from the shadows between the gas-lamps on the 
opposite side of the street, a slender, girlish figure was 
moving slowly. She was dressed in black, and her face 
looked muffled. Her gaze was fixed upon Mrs. Margie's 
house — upon Desmond's windows. Opposite the house 
she paused, continuing to look. He could not see her 
face, but her attitude was one of unutterable longing, of 
profoundest sorrow. 

Some one drew the parlor blinds in the house over 
the way, and a sudden stream of light fell , upon the 
slender figure in black. At the same moment a fitful 
gust of wintry wind blew her veil back front her face. 
Wan and sorrowful, thin and pale, it was still the beauti- 
ful young face of Beryl. 

Desmond ran down the stairs and out of the house. 
Beryl saw him coming, and flitted away like a spirit. 
She turned into Oxford street. When he also turned the 
corner, she had altogether vanished. She had come and 
gon^ like a spirit in a dream. 

I 


272 


GUIDED BY FATE. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

GUIDED BY FATE. 

About a fortnight after Beryl s disappearance from 
Wells street, Lord Hawkhurst sent a peremptory sum- 
mons to his solicitor to come to him at once. Mr. Sher- 
wald obeyed, arriving at Hawkhurst House about nine 
o’clock in the evening, and before the earl had come up 
from the dining-room. 

Sherwald was shown into the library as usual. The 
earl presently joined him. The solicitor’s face expressed 
his surprise at the change a few days had wrought in 
the appearance of his lordship. And yet it was hard to 
tell in what the change consisted. It was only that his 
step was languid when it had always been quick and 
ringing ; only that the ruddiness of his visage had faded 
somewhat ; that his massive features looked shrunken 
and pinched, and that his eyes seemed unnaturally keen 
and bright. 

‘‘Are you ill, my Lord?” said Sherwald, involuntarily. 

“ No. What senseless questions people ask !” said the 
earl, fretfully. “111! I am never ill. Be good enough 
to remember that, Sherwald. Why have you not been 
here within a week ? Do you expect me to hunt you up ? 
Sit down.” 

Sherwald obeyed, continuing to regard his employer 
with a look of solicitude. 

“ I have been very busy during the past week, my 
Lord,” he explained. “ I sent you a note nearly every 


GUIDED BY FATE. 


273 


day to let you know how I was getting on, but I had no 
news to bring. I have not made out the draft of the new 
will yet — 

Bother the new will ! There is no hurry about that. 
There’s time enough for wills during the next twenty 
years. I want to know about Desmond. Has he found 
his wife yet ?” 

No, my Lord.” 

But I told you to look for her — to leave no means 
untried to find her.” 

I liave searched for her, but have not yet been suc- 
cessful,” said Sherwald. ‘‘I shall keep up the search, 
my Lord.” 

“ Perhaps she’s killed herself. Women are fools, any- 
how,” growled the earl. ‘‘If she had remained with 
Desmond I might have seen her and asked her a few 
questions. I should like to know how she came into 
possession of that necklace.” 

“ Probably her first husband gave it to her,” suggested 
Sherwald. 

“Her first husband? Yes, yes, probably; but where 
did he get it ? That’s the question. I’d give a good 
deal to see this young woman, Sherwald,” said the earl, 
restlessly. “ I must see her.” 

“We shall soon find her, my Lord, if she’s alive. 
Desmond is devoting his life to the search for her, and 
I am doing the same,” said Sherwald, inwardly con- 
vinced that the earl suspected Conyers of being Beryl’s 
first husband, and thus accounting in his own mind for 
the earl’s solicitude to find Beryl. “We shall leave no 
stone unturned in our search. By the way, my Lord, 
does Mr. Conyers know that the will devising all your 
property to him has been destroyed ?” 

“ Certainly not. He knew of the existence of the will, 


274 


GUIDED BY FATE. 


but it is not necessary that he should know that it has 
ceased to exist. I shall make another will immediately, 
and he will lose little by the change.** 

It is still your purpose, then, my Lord, to make Mr. 
Conyers your heir ?’* 

Certainly. Why should I change my expressed 
purpose ? He is honorable, has an unblemished name, 
and has never done anything to blush for. True, he has 
sowed his crop of wild oats, but all young men do that. 
I can forgive prodigality, recklessness and folly in young 
men, but I could never forgive wickedness and crime, 
nor that folly which Desmond has committed, of linking 
himself to a woman who is no doubt an adventuress.** 
Sherwald looked thoughtful and troubled. He 
regarded the earl with a keen scrutiny, taking note of 
the change in his appearance, but he did not venture 
again to remark upon it. 

“ I hardly think Desmond*s wife is an adventuress,** he 
said, arousing himself. Desmond thinks her an angel. 
This anxiety is wearing him out. He’s a noble fellow, 
my Lord, although I own that he was imprudent in 
marrying a woman whose history he did not fully know. 
But that fault is not common among young men in this 
day and generation, you must grant. As to the lady, I 
do not indorse Desmond’s theory of fever, or hallucina- 
tion, or what not.** 

You don’t ? What do you think, then ?** 

I think that she actually saw her first husband, as I 
said to you once before, my Lord.** 

A pretty state of affairs !’* muttered the earl. Des- 
mond married to a woman who has another husband 
living ? Preposterous ! I wonder the woman don’t kill 
herself. Is she of foreign birth ?** 


GriDED BY FATE. 


275 


** No, my Lord. She was educated in Switzerland, 
but was born in England.'' 

‘‘ Her name was Conroy, you said ?" 

Her first husband's name was Conroy. Her maiden 
name was Star." 

^^What!" 

A great agitation convulsed the earl's countenance. 
His face flushed ; his eyes flamed. 

‘‘What did you say her name was ?" he demanded. 

“ Star — Beryl Star. Desmond told me yesterday — " 

“ Star ! Her name Star ! That accounts — Yes ; I 
understand. I — I understand — " 

Lord Hawkhurst walked away to the window. He 
was silent for some minutes. When he returned to the 
fireside, he was calm and quiet, but startlingly pale, and 
his eyes still glowed and burned like lamps. 

Sherwald’s conviction that his lordship knew some- 
thing concerning Beryl's first husband, or suspected 
more, received confirmation in the earl’s singular 
agitation. 

“ I should like to see Desmond’s wife," said Lord 
Hawkhurst, calmly. “ For his sake, we must scour 
London — England even — to find her. The scandal 
must be kept hushed up, you understand. I feel tired, 
Sherwald. I’m not equal to business this evening." 

He flung himself into a chair and threw back his 
head upon the cushions, his massive throat thrown into 
full relief. He looked tired and haggard. Sherwald’s 
concern for him got the better of his discretion. 

“ My Lord, I wish you would see a physician," he 
said. *‘ I don’t think you are at all yourself — " 

“ Pshaw ! I’m well enough. I hate a pack of med- 
dling croakers !" growled the earl. “ There — there ! 
You mean well enough, no doubt, Sherwald, but I am 


276 


GUIDED BY FATE. 


not ill. ril take a run down to Hawks* Cliff for a few 
days. The stiff salt breezes will set me up. Nasty 
weather weVe been having.** 

The conversation drifted into other channels. An 
hour later the solicitor took his leave. 

He had scarcely departed when Lord Hawkhurst 
began to pace his room as a lion walks his cage. 

That name !’* he muttered. ‘‘ This girl belongs to 
the same family. Her possession of the necklace proves 
that. This Beryl Star is William Star’s daughter. No 
doubt he’s married and has a large family. But how 
came the necklace in his hands ? Can it be that after 
the lapse of years I shall find a clew to her fate ? Is she 
alive or dead ? I must see William Star. I will run 
down to his place to-morrow.** 

Toward noon of the next day, the knocker was 
sounded, and the becalved and beplushed hall-porter 
opened the door. A young lady dressed in black, with 
a small parcel in her hand, was standing on the stone 
steps. The hall-porter admitted her into the marble- 
paved hall, and she asked to see Lady Hawkhurst.** 

The young lady was Beryl. 

The hall-porter smiled as he assured her that there 
was no Lady Hawkhurst. 

‘‘There must be some mistake, madam,** he said. 
“ My lady has been dead for twenty years.** 

“ Then it must be her daughter I am come to see,’* 
said Beryl. “ The address was certainly Hawkhurst 
House, Park Lane. I call by appointment. My name 
is Miss Star.** 

“ Perhaps,** suggested the servant, “ it is Mrs. Conyers 
you wish to see.” 

Before Beryl could reply, Octavia’s maid, who was 


GUIDED BY FATE. 


277 


peering over the balusters on the upper stair-landing, 
called out, sharply : 

‘‘ If the young person has come to see my lady about 
some embroidery. Butters, let her come up. She is 
expected.'' 

Beryl flitted across the hall and up the stairs. The 
lady's maid received her at the landing and conducted 
her up to the next floor, ushering her into Octavia's 
boudoir. 

Mrs. Conyers was alone. She wore a dressing-gown 
of white cashmere, and a profusion of scarlet ribbons. 
Her black hair was heaped high upon her head in 
fashionable dishevelment. Her hard black eyes grew 
bright at sight of Beryl, and she greeted her visitor with 
a gracious smile. 

I rather expected you to-day," she said, condescend- 
ingly. “ Pray be seated. Miss — Miss — " 

Miss Star," said Beryl, simply. “ I have finished one 
of the chair-covers, madam, and have brought it for 
your inspection. I inquired for you as Lady Hawkhurst. 
The servant spoke of you as Mrs. Conyers, I think. May 
I ask if that is your name ?" 

‘‘Yes," said Octavia, carelessly. “It's a common 
name enough, but my husband is of a very aristocratic 
family. He will be the next Lord Hawkhurst." 

“ I suppose the name is common," said Beryl, who had 
been curiously pale. “ Permit me to show you my work, 
madame. I designed the pattern myself, and have made 
drawings of the remaining patterns, that you may see if 
you like them." 

She unrolled her parcel, displaying a square of white 
satin upon which was exquisitely embroidered a wreath 
of pale pink roses. 

“ How lovely !" cried Octavia. “ You have genius, 


278 


GUIDED BY FATE. 


Miss Star. I wish I were clever like you. My chairs 
wiil be the envy of all my friends. How beautifully 
those roses are shaded ! I never saw handsomer needle- 
work even in Paris.’* 

Beryl was pleased at these warm commendations. 
She began to unroll her tiny parcel of drawings. 

‘‘ Sit down here at the fire, Miss Star,” said Mrs. Con- 
yers. “ Lisette, you may go.” 

Beryl sat down at the corner of the hearth in a low 
Marquise chair, and exhibited her designs. Mrs. Con- 
yers admired them all, and expressed her admiration in 
warm terms. 

‘‘You will make your fortune,” she said. “I shall 
want a second set when these are done, and shall 
recommend you to all my friends. You ought to adopt 
a French name. As ‘Madame Etoile’* you would 
receive double prices and double fame. You know what 
the world is. Miss Star. But I dare say you could not 
speak French.” 

“ Oh, yes, madam,” said Beryl. “ I was educated in 
Switzerland, and speak French and German as fluently 
as I speak English.” 

“ Oh, indeed,” said Octavia, congratulating herself 
upon the ease with which she was ingratiating herself in 
Beryl’s confidence. “ I fancied I detected a foreign air 
about you, Miss Star. I was educated in Paris. You 
seem young to have left school. Have you experienced 
a reverse of fortune ? Have you parents living ?” 

“I am alone in the world, madam,” said Beryl, with a 
quiet dignity that impressed even Octavia. “ I have no 
one to support and no one to support me. I suppose I 
was educated to become a governess but I am not 


*Star. 


GUIDED BY FATE. 


279 


able to find a situation, having no one to recommend 
me.’* 

Embroidery like this must pay better than teaching. 
I should not think you would be obliged to work a 
great while to support yourself. That beautiful face of 
yours ought to secure you a rich husband.** 

Beryl flushed and drew herself up with hauteur. 

“ I beg your pardon if my freedom has offended you,** 
said Octavia. I am awkward, perhaps, in paying com- 
pliments. I was interested in you, and fancied I could 
read a whole romance in your black dress and lonely 
position. I should have been pleased to be of service to 
you, but, as you intimate, we will confine ourselves to 
business. I will pay you for the chair-cover you have 
brought home. Here is the money.’* 

She counted out the five sovereigns she had agreed to 
pay. 

‘‘ I should like my husband’s opinions upon the 
remaining designs,” she continued, smoothly. He has 
the tastes of an artist, and will admire your work, I am 
sure. I will call him.” 

Her heart throbbed fast with an evil exultation as she 
went through her dressing-room into that of Conyers. 

“ Rollyn,” she said, maliciously, “ come into my 
boudoir. I have something lovely to show you.” 

“ All right,” replied Conyers. “ I’ll be along in a 
minute.” 

Octavia returned to Beryl. 

“ My husband is coming,” she said. “ I do hope he 
will admire your work, but of course he will like them 
if I do. He is perfectly devoted to me, thinks me an 
angel, and so on, but that’s a weakness of young hus- 
bands, I suppose.” 

Beryl was silent. 


280 


GUIDED BY FATE. 


Octavia listened impatiently for Conyers's step. She 
was eager to solve the mystery of the relations existing 
between this beautiful girl and Rollyn Conyers. That 
they had known each other she was sufficiently assured. 
That it was the sight of Conyers that had stricken Beryl 
down at the door of St. Just’s church she was con- 
vinced. She believed that the two had known each other 
in Switzerland, and that Conyers had made love to Miss 
Star, and had won her love. She believed even that 
Conyers might have betrayed Beryl into a mock mar- 
riage, Huplick officiating as clergyman ; but not one 
thought of the actual truth penetrated her mind. 
How could she suspect that Lord Hawkhurst’s heir 
was actually and legally married to Beryl Star, and that 
she, Octavia Windsor, was not his wife ! Had she 
suspected the hideous truth, she would never have admit- 
ted Beryl into Hawkhurst House, would never have 
schemed to bring her face to face with Conyers, and 
would have devoted every energy to the task of crush- 
ing her rival out of existence. Her suspicions were 
become to her almost certainty. The desire to verify 
them, and to lay bare Conyers’s secret, was become 
almost feverish. 

‘H think. Miss Star,” she said, as the silence grew 
oppressive, and Beryl betrayed a sudden restlessness, 

that I will have a set also in pale-blue satin, the 
designs entirely different. Ah ! There comes my hus- 
band, now !” 

She arose, her face glowing with triumphant malice. 

A careless step crossed the dressing-room floor, the 
door opened, and with the words of an opera-song upon 
his lips, Dane Conyers came sauntering into the boudoir. 


A DAWNING OF LIGHT. 


281 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

A DAWNING OF LIGHT. 

In the first moment of his entrance into Octavia’s 
room, Conyers did not see the slender figure in 
black at the corner of the hearth. His eyes rested upon 
Octavia, who stood, evilly exultant, near the door. 

“Well, what is it ?” he demanded. “What are you 
grinning at, Octavia ? What has happened ? The earl 
isn’t — ” 

“ Hush !” said Octavia, with a start and a quick 
glance over her shoulder. “ Pve been making a 
purchase, dear, and I want your opinion. Come, see 
this lovely embroidery. Miss Star — 

Beryl rose slowly up, white as death. Conyers 
turned his gaze upon her, and glared at her. 

They confronted each other for a brief space, in a 
dead silence. Conyers’s face grew livid. He stood as 
one at bay. 

Octavia’s jeering laugh rang through the room. 

Beryl dropped back into her chair. Conyers muttered 
an oath so savage that even Octavia shrank back from 
him, and he strode toward his wronged young wife, his 
visage terrifying in its blazing wrath, its savage, uncon- 
trollable fury. 

“You here !” he said, in a hissing voice. “You have 
tracked me, then ? You have broken your oath ? You 
have told your lying story to this lady ? You — ” 

“ Stop !” said Beryl, with a stern voice, her sweet face 


282 


A DAWNING OF LIGHT. 


grown Stern also. ** Are you this lady’s husband, Dane 
Conyers ?” 

‘‘You know it. Have you not told her ?” 

“Then that story was all true. You had a wife 
living.” 

Conyers looked from Beryl to Octavia, and back 
again. 

“ This lady,” said he, indicating Octavia, “ is my law- 
ful wife. How dare you come here ? How dare you 
track me — ” 

“ I have not tracked you. I came here to bring some 
work which this lady engaged me to do. I did not 
know that you lived here,” said Beryl. “ I have discov- 
ered you in your real character by accident. And this 
lady is your wife, also ?” 

She looked at Octavia pityingly. Her rival flushed 
back a look of hatred. 

“ She is my lawful wife,” said Conyers, driven to 
desperation, yet struggling to maintain a calm front. 
“ Octavia, what has this girl been telling you .>” 

“ Nothing. I suspected that you had known each 
other, and contrived to bring you together in order to 
verify my suspicions,” said Octavia, coolly. “ Who is 
this girl, Rollyn ?” 

“ I knew her in Switzerland,” he answered. “ I had a 
passing fancy for her, and we went through the form of 
marriage, but I took care that the form should lack 
legality. Why, she is base-born and poor, and was 
being educated to become a governess. I amused my- 
self with her for a month and then left her. She found 
her way to England and entrapped Desmond into a bona- 
marriage, and then ran away from him. That’s her 
history.” 


FACE TO FACE. 


283 


‘‘Ah!” said Octavia. “Does your side of the story 
differ from this, Miss Star ?” 

“ Is his name really Conyers — Rollyn Dane Conyers ?” 
asked Beryl, gravely. 

“Yes, that is his name.” 

“He pretended that that name was assumed. It is 
the name he was married under. We were married at 
Geneva, Switzerland, by an authorized clergyman, in 
the English church, in the presence of witnesses, on the 
twenty-fourth day of last August, and our marriage is 
duly registered,” said Beryl, solemnly. “ Was your 
marriage prior to that, madam V* 


CHAPTER XL. 

FACE TO FACE. 

Octavia caught her breath sharply. Conyers met her 
gaze with one of sullen fury and defiance. 

“You invited the woman here, madam,” he said, iron- 
ically, “and I wish you joy of her. You can hear her 
trumped up stories if you choose. I did marry her, but 
the marriage was not legal. Her name is not Beryl 
Star. Heaven only knows her parentage !” 

Beryl’s form quivered as under a blow. Conyers 
addressed himself to her. 

“I am Lord Hawkhurst’s heir, and shall be next Earl 
of Hawkhurst. Do you think I would ally myself to a 
nameless creature like you ? Does it look reasonable ? 
Our marriage was not legal. Find your clargyman and 


284 


FACE TO FACE. 


witnesses, and see what they will prove. You have no 
more right to my name than to that of Star. Dare to 
attempt to hunt me-^down, and you will rue the day you 
were born. Any charge against me must recoil on 
yourself. According to your own story, you have two 
husbands living !** 

“I have not come here to expose you, and I have 
nothing more to say,'* said Beryl, quietly. I am poor 
and friendless, but I would die in the Thames sooner 
than take my position as your wife. It may be all as 
you say. I may have been cheated ; the marriage may 
not have been legal ; you may have been previously mar- 
ried to this lady. Whatever the truth, I shall never 
seek to know it, I have no friends to be wounded by 
my misfortunes, and I am content to leave my case in 
the hands of Him who knows all. But I can never sink 
so low as to lay any claim to you, Dane Conyers. You 
and this lady need have no fear of me !’* 

Her lip curled in a scorn she could not conceal. She 
arose and took up her scattered drawings, the most cool 
and self-possessed of the three. 

“ I am sure I don't fear you," said Octavia, insolently. 

You did right not to call yourself by my husband's 
name, girl. Yon need not trouble yourself to complete 
those embroideries for me. Rollyn, dear, will you open 
the door?" 

Conyers sprang forward and did her bidding. More, 
he went out into the hall with Beryl, and appealed to 
her, in a whispering voice, to keep his miserable secret 
and spare him from exposure. 

** Our marriage was not legal," he said, eagerly. I 
imposed a fraud upon you. Octavia is my actual wife, 
but I loved you better than I have ever loved her. Will 


FACE TO FACE. 


285 


you keep your oath, Beryl, not to betray the fact of our 
marriage — yours and mine V* 

“ I shall never break my word, Dane. I promised to 
keep the secret so long as you let me alone. I believe 
it is possible that I may be your lawful wife, but I am 
only too glad to be released from the hateful bonds our 
marriage imposed upon ‘me. I do not know quite what 
is right, nor quite what is the truth, but I cannot be 
doing wrong in leaving you and her in peace. Rest 
assured, I shall not expose you !'* 

She moved toward the stair. He went back into 
Octavia's room, heavy-hearted and sorely troubled. 

Octavia met him with the countenance of a fury. 

‘‘ Is that creature’s story true ?” she demanded. “ You 
have no timid, ignorant school-girl to deal with now, 
whom a word can deceive. I demand the truth from 
your lips, if you can speak the truth. Was that creature 
known as your wife ? And were you married to her, as 
she said ?” 

‘‘That creature’s story in so far is true.” 

“ Was — is she your lawful wife ?’’ 

“No. There were irregularities that made the mar- 
riage null and void. She was pure and good, and 
thought herself my wife. If she had been well-born and 
rich, I should have made the marriage legal.” 

“ Can I believe you ?” 

“You are better aware of your own capabilities in 
that line than I am,” he replied, scoffingly. 

“Will the girl make a scandal ?” 

“ No ; I have her word — her sworn oath — that she 
will never proclaim our marriage. She’s honor itself, 
and would go to the stake rather than break her word. 
You have nothing to fear from her.” 


286 


FACE TO FACE. 


But have you nothing to fear from me ? Suppose I 
expose you to Lord Hawkhurst.” 

‘‘And cut yourself out of a home? Come, come 
Octavia. Let my faults alone. You were an incarnate 
fraud, pretending to be an heiress and all that, and you 
couldn’t have expected to ally yourself to an angel. I 
have overlooked your faults ; you must overlook mine. 
To expose me is to ruin yourself.*’ 

Meanwhile, Beryl had descended the stairs. As she 
gained the lower hall the door of the library opened, 
and Lord Hawkhurst, attired for a journey, a book in 
hand, came out, meeting her face to face. 

He stood still, as in a species of fascination. Some- 
thing in the pale, spirited, lovely face touched his heart ; 
or it might have been the sad, unconscious beseeching 
in her vivid brown eyes, as they were uplifted to him. 
He noted that she had a small, noble head, crowned 
with short, red curls ; that her beauty was of a striking 
and glorious type, and that she had the bearing of a 
lady. He supposed her to be a morning visitor of 
Octavia. 

He raised his hat to her almost unconsciously, and 
halted, with a respectful gesture to her to pass on. 
Beryl bowed in acknowledgment of the courtesy and 
walked on. He looked after her, his hat still in his hand, 
his soul in his eyes. 

As she neared the vestibule, her small fur boa fell 
from her neck. She caught it, adjusted it, and in doing 
so detached the necklace she always wore, with its pen- 
dant ornament — the pigeon*s-blood ruby. Lord Hawk- 
hurst saw it fall ; but b^ore he could speak. Beryl had 
passed out of the door and was gone. 

The earl hurried forward and caught up the ornament. 
A single glance at it was sufficient to plunge him into a 


FACE TO FACE. 


287 


most profound agitation. He clutched it tightly in his 
hand and bounded out into the street. 

Beryl was not in sight, but a cab was whirling down 
the street, and he sprang to the conclusion that she was 
in it. 

Too late !’’ he muttered. What was she doing 
here ? I must know !*' 

He put the necklace in his pocket and strode back into 
the house. He deposited his hat in the hall and hurried 
up-stairs to Mrs. Conyers’s boudoir. Octavia’s voice 
bade him enter. Octavia herself met him just within 
the door, her face bearing traces of great recent pas- 
sion. 

“ Is it you, my Lord ?” she ejaculated, in a real alarm. 

Won’t you come in? This is an unexpected honor.” 

She believed for the moment that Beryl had told her 
story to his lordship. A moment’s reflection assured 
her that there had been no time forsuch communication, 
and her courage began to return to her. 

** Excuse my abruptness, my dear,” said Lord Hawk- 
hurst. ‘‘ I have not come for a visit, only to inquire the 
name of the young lady who passed out just now. Who 
was she, Octavia?” 

The sickening sensation returned to Octavia’s heart. 

Young lady !” she faltered. “ I have seen no young 
lady this morning.” 

“ She did not see you, then ? Strange ! She came 
down the stairs. She was unmistakably a lady. I am 
sorry to have disturbed you. I will ask Butters. I 
ought, indeed, to have done so at first.” 

A consultation between his lordship and Butters 
would inevitably result in a discovery to the earl that 
the visitor had been up to Mrs. Conyers’s apartments. 
Octavia took the alarm. 


288 


FACE TO FACE. 


‘‘Stay/’ she said, pretending to reflect. ‘‘Was the 
person about whom you are inquiring, a young girl 
dressed in black ?'* 

“Yes, yes.** 

“ Has she red hair ?** 

“ Yes ; she has red hair.** 

“ I remember, now,** said Octavia. “Why, she is but 
just gone. You called her ‘a young lady,* and that mis- 
led me. She is only a sewing-girl whom I have 
employed to work embroidery for me. She just came 
to fetch home her work. There it is on the table yon- 
der. I should so like your opinion of it. I paid her a 
very extravagant price for it.’* 

“A sewing-girl!** repeated the earl, mechanically. 
“ What is her name !*** 

“Mary Jones,” said Octavia, uttering the first name 
that occurred to her. “ She is supporting her invalid 
parents, she told me. A very worthy young woman, 
sir.” 

“Yes, yes, no doubt,** said the earl, breathing heavily. 
“ And her name is Mary Jones I I — I thought — excuse 
me, my dear ; I will go down again. I shall not be in 
at dinner. I am about to make a little journey, and 
shall probably not be home till morning. Good-by, my 
dear.’* 

He held out his hand, shook hers warmly, pressed a 
kiss on her dark forehead, and hurried out. 

“ What do his inquiries mean ?” questioned Octavia of 
herself, when his heavy tread was heard descending the 
stairs. 

She hastened to her husband’s dressing-room. 

Lord Hawkhurst returned to the lower hall and again 
put on his hat. He was anxious and excited. He 
believed Octavia’s story implicitly, yet some undefined 


LOED HAWKHTJRST AT STARWOOD. 


289 


impulse caused him to question the hall-porter as he 
opened the door to go out. 

Butters,” said he, speaking with affected carelessness, 
“the young lady who went out just now lost her neck- 
lace, as you saw. I must take means to restore it to her, 
if she should not return to inquire after it. Mrs. Con- 
yers tells me that she is a sewing-girl. If she should 
come again let me know. I want to see her. Do you 
remember her name. Butters ?” 

“Yes, my Lord. She said it was Miss Star.” 

“ What ! What name did you say ?” 

“ Star, my Lord.” 

Lord Hawkhurst passed down his steps and moved 
down the street. He signaled a cab at the nearest corner, 
and soon after was seated in a first-class compartment of 
a railway-coach, whirling swiftly through the winter day 
and the Surrey country, on his way to Starwood. 


CHAPTER XLI. 

LORD HAWKHURST AT STARWOOD. 

The short February afternoon was drawing to its 
close when Lord Hawkhurst drove in at the open gates 
of Starwood farm, and alighted at the hospitable porch. 

The cabman blanketed his horse, and sank down 
deeper into the warmth and protection of his manifold 
capes, while the earl rang the knocker loudly. Steps 
were heard shuffling over the bare floor of the hall, and 
old Margot, with a candle held far above her head, and 


290 


LORD HAWKHURST AT STARWOOD. 


with a peering gaze in her old sunken eyes, looked out 
at the visitor, 

*‘Is it news of the master?” she asked, in a quer- 
ulous voice. Oh, it’s a stranger, eh ? Come in, sir. 
Come in !” 

She flung the door open wide, and Lord Hawkhurst 
entered the hall, which, uncarpeted and unfurnished, 
was dreariness itself. Old Margot, her candle still held 
above her head, the yellow light flickering with her 
movements, led the way through the long hall to the 
kitchen, or ‘^house-place” beyond. 

“ There is no fire in the master’s room,” she said, 
apologetically. “ Sit down, sir. Did you wish to see the 
master ?” 

The earl replied in the affirmative, with a curious 
glance about him and at the old housekeeper. 

“The master went away quite unexpectedly, last 
night,” explained old Margot. “ A gentleman came up 
from London with ill news, and the master went away 
with him, saying he should not return under a day or 
two. Perhaps, sir, you are come upon the same busi- 
ness as the other ?” 

She looked at the earl sharply. He rubbed his gloved 
hands together, but shook his head, as he replied : 

“ My business has no connection with that of any other. 
Can I not see Mrs. Star ?” 

“The master is not married, sir.” 

“Not married? Can I not see his sister — his 
father — ” 

“ He has no sister, sir. And his father died, seventeen 
years ago, of a broken heart,” said old Margot, as calmly 
as if she were mentioning a very common disease. 

The earl had half risen. He sank back in his chair 
again. 


LORD HAWKHURST AT STARWOOD. 


291 


‘‘ A broken heart ! That's a rare malady/’ he 
observed, but his voice had lost something of its calm- 
ness. ‘‘Is there no lady at the head of Mr. Star’s house, 
my good woman ? Has he no confidential friend, no 
trusted relative, with whom I can have speech for a few 
moments ?” 

“ There’s no one but me, sir. The master lives here 
like a hermit, as one might say. I know all his family 
affairs better than any one beside himself. I minded the 
master when he was a wee lad, as gay and lightsome as 
he is now hard and bitter. I nursed Miss Jenny in these 
arms from the very hour of her birth. I know the Stars 
root and branch. If you want to talk of family affairs, 
you can talk to me almost as well as to the master him- 
self, sir.” 

There was a suppressed anxiety in the old woman’s 
face and manner that declared her expectant and 
solicitous to hear some especial tidings. 

The earl hesitated. He was averse to speaking to 
this trusted old servant of her master’s family affairs ; 
but he, too, had heavy anxieties, and it seemed to him 
that he could not wait until he should be able to dis- 
cover Mr. Star. He was not here to pry out secrets, 
but to ask a few questions which it would not be treason 
to her employer if old Margot should answer. While 
he deliberated, she exclaimed : 

“You need not be afraid to speak to me,, sir. I know 
my place, and I should not answer any questions I 
ought not to. The master knows that he may trust me 
as himself. I may say that I brought him up, and Miss 
Jenny — ” 

“ Miss Jenny ?” said the earl, huskily. 

“The master’s sister, sir. She died ^young. She is 
buried near London. She was a great beauty, sir, and 


292 


LORD HA.WKHURST AT STARWOOD. 


as innocent and pure as an angel — my poor lamb ! My 
poor lamb !’* said old Margot, her voice suddenly 
changing to a sort of low, wailing tone. 

The earl was silent for a brief space, and his face was 
averted. Presently he said, very quietly : 

“ I am come here, my good woman, to ask Mr. Star a 
very simple question. Perhaps you can answer it. 
Who is the girl known as Beryl Star ?’* 

Old Margot uttered a quick ejaculation, and came 
nearer to the visitor, her features working, her dull old 
eyes emitting an unwonted gleam. 

I was right!" she exclaimed. ‘‘You have come 
upon the same business that took the master away. 
Where is Miss Beryl ? Where is she ?” 

“ Answer my questions first. First of all tell me who 
is the gentleman who came from London and took Mr. 
Star away with him ?" 

“ His name is Desmond, and he’s married to Miss 
Beryl," said old Margot, flinging reticence to the winds 
under the belief that this stranger knew the entire story 
of Beryl’s disappearance. “ I heard him say that he 
had traced out the master, and believed Miss Beryl to 
belong to this family, and he took the master to London 
with him." 

“It was Noble Desmond. He is searching for his 
lost wife everywhere, poor fellow. I saw her to-day — " 
“To-day? You saw her? Then she is not dead? 
She has not killed herself? She was safe? Was she 
safe ? Oh, sir, I am half mad with the trouble — ’’ 

“She was safe and well," said the earl, kindly. “She 
is earning her living with her needle." 

Safe and well ! The good Lord be praised !" sobbed 
the old woman, in an uncontrollable joy. “ Oh, sir, I 
never slept last night for thinking of her. The poor, 


LOED HAWKHURST AT STARWOOD. 


293 


disowned lamb ! She’s had a hard life, sir, from her 
very birth. She was brought up in a school in Switzer- 
land and never had a home. She never had any one to 
cuddle her up, as mothers do their children, to pet her, 
to love her. And when she came here a while ago, in 
the winter’s cold, begging, as you might say, for a 
shelter and a kind word as you’d fling to a dog, the 
master pelted her with hard words as they were stones, 
and turned her out of the house, and she went out into 
the great world, sir, to earn her own bread, and she barely 
seventeen, and a stranger in England ! And when Mr. 
Desmond found the master out, and came here and said 
that she was missing, the master turned white as a 
sheet. He thought as he had driven her to her death, as 
the world had proved too much for her, as she had 
worked and starved and gone voluntarily to her death.” 

The woman laughed and wept together. The earl 
was greatly moved by her agitation. Her words had 
smitten him as so many knife-thrusts. 

“You love Miss Beryl very dearly,” he said. 

“ Yes, I love her and I pity her. I love her because 
she has no one else to love her, because she has been 
misused all her life ?” 

“Was not Mr. Star kind to her ?” 

“ Kind ! He hated her. He would have been glad 
to have her die, although not by her own hand. That 
would have looked as if he had driven her to it.” 

“ Why should he hate her ? Had she ever harmed 
him ?” 

“ Never, except in her coming into the world !” 

The earl started. 

“ How did her birth wrong him ?” he asked, 

“ I cannot tell you, sir.” 

“ Is Beryl Star her real name 


294 : 


LORD HAWKHURST AT STARWOOD. 


It is the name the master gave her, sir. She had no 
right to any/* 

Mrs. Beryl looked very pale and thin,** he observed. 

She has had a hard life, as you say. I do not wonder 
that Mr. Star feels burdened with remorse.** 

Did you come to him with a message from her, sir.** 

“She did not send me, but lam come upon her 
account,** replied the earl, evasively. “You need not be 
so reticent with me, my good woman. I presume any 
neighbors of yours could tell me all I want to know.’* 

“ No one in this neighborhood knows of the existence 
even of Miss Beryl.** 

“ No one ?’* The earl was surprised. Is she not an 
acknowledged member of the family ?’* 

Old Margot shook her head. 

“ What relation does she bear to Mr. Star ?’* 

“ She is his niece.** 

An unguarded admission. Old Margot was angry at 
herself the moment she had made it. 

Its effect upon the earl was most marked and singular. 
He uttered a strange, low cry and his form quivered as 
under a galvanic shock. He gasped for breath and fell 
back in his chair. 

Old Margot ran to him in terror. 

As she approached, he feebly waved her back, and 
said, hoarsely : 

“ l am not well, I think. Don’t disturb yourself. I shall 
be myself presently. His niece ! His niece, you said !’* 

He removed his hat and wiped his brows, which were 
wet with sweat. Old Margot watched him closely, 
with new and strange ideas forming in her mind. 

There was a long silence. 

“ This girl Beryl is the daughter of Jenny Star. 
Poor girl ! I must go back to London by the first 


LORD HAWKHURST AT STARWOOD. 


295 


train. I must find her immediately. I can readily 
obtain her address. Oh ! why did I not know ? Why 
did I not guess ?" 

His voice was broken ; his soul agitated to its 
depths. 

I don’t remember having ever seen you before,” 
said old Margot, “ but I have my suspicions that you 
knew Miss Jenny. After she died there was a man 
came here to inquire after her. He seemed a lawyer 
sort of man. I think he had been sent here by Miss 
Jenny’s lover, and the master thought so, too. The 
master told him that Miss Jenny was dead, and told 
him where she was buried. But the master did not tell 
him that Miss Jenny left a child ? How could he ? I 
think you have heard the whole story from Miss Beryl. 
I cannot think that you would make a mock of the 
good name of this family. The master has been hard 
and cruel, but no one knows what he has suffered. He 
loved Miss Jenny with a love that was real worship. 
She was his pride, his idol. He found her in a London 
lodging-house alone. She gave birth to this child. Miss 
Beryl, and died. There was no wedding-ring upon her 
finger ; no husband beside her to cheer her last 
moments. She never even said that she was married. 
But I know that she was pure and good till the last. 
And — ” Old Margot’s eyes gleamed, and she raised 
her hand high above her head — “ may God’s bitterest 
curse light upon' the husband who deserted her ! May 
his nights be sleepless, his days full of bitterness. May 
he be balked in all his hopes and desires !” 

“All this and more have come to him,” said the earl, 
with a groan. “ He who caused her death has been 
punished. She is avenged.” 

* He put on his hat and strode to the door, feeling 


296 


A STARTLING DISCOVERY. 


blindly for the latch. Old Margot would have detained 
him further, but he hastened on to the outer door and 
gave himself egress. The cabman was asleep on the 
box. Lord Hawkhurst roused him up and entered the 
cab, and the vehicle rolled out of the Starwood 
grounds, and old Margot stood in the doorway gazing 
after it, a pale light behind her outlining her form. 


CHAPTER XLII. 

A STARTLING DISCOVERY. 

On leaving Hawkhurst House, Beryl returned to her 
lodgings in Bayswater, and did not emerge from her 
room again that day. 

Her work was finished on the morning of the fourth 
day, and it became necessary to dispose of it. There 
was no use in working elaborate pieces of embroidery 
unless a market could be obtained for them. Beryl 
shrank from going from shop to shop, as she had done 
before, but there was no help for it. She put on her 
black garments, her hat and short black crepe veil, which 
effectually shrouded her features, and, work in hand, set 
forth upon her mission. She shrank from going into 
the neighborhood of Oxford and Regent streets, but that 
was the fashionable quarter ; it was there that wealthy 
ladies went to purchase costly wares, and it was there 
she would stand most chance to sell her embroideries. 
She wandered into Piccadilly, and into the Burlington 
Arcade. 


A STARTLING DISCOVERY. 


297 


She soon came out of the Arcade considerably disheart- 
ened, and brushed against her old friend Mrs. Margie. 

In spite of Beryl’s black veil, Mrs. Margie knew her. 
She stood a moment as if stupefied, but as Beryl essayed 
to pass on, the lodging-house keeper clutched at her 
garments, crying out : 

“ Oh, Miss Star, wherever have you been all this time, 
and your husband wild about you ? My dear, oh, my 
dear — ** 

Curious eyes were upon them. Beryl came to a halt 
lest she should create a scene. 

^‘How do you do, Mrs. Margie?” she said, quietly. 
“ Come out into the street with me, if you wish to speak 
to me.” 

Mrs. Margie kept a close hold’ upon the girl, but went 
with her into the open street. 

‘‘ I knew you at once,” said Mrs. Margie, garrulously, 
“in spite of your black dress and that thick veil. I 
knew you by the way you carried your head, by your 
figure, your walk, and by your whole self, and I was that 
took aback I can hardly get my breath yet. Oh, Mrs. 
Star — I mean Mrs. Desmond — wherever have you been ?” 

“ I have been quite safe, Mrs. Margie, and very well in 
health. How is — is Mr. Desmond ?” 

Her voice faltered as she made the inquiry. 

“ He is not well. How could he be? He neither eats 
nor sleeps, as one might say,” said Mrs. Margie,- 
reproachfully. “ He spends all his time in searching 
for you. I believe he thinks that you may destroy your- 
self. He has grown thin and nervous, and starts at 
every sound. He thinks that he saw you in “Wells 
street the other night, and no one can persuade him to 
the contrary. He spends all his evenings at home now 
a-watching for you. Oh, Mrs. Desmond, you’ve treated 


298 


A STARTLING DISCOYERY. 


him cruel ! What has made all this trouble ? Why did 
you run away from Mr. Desmond on your wedding- 
day ? Were you out of your mind at the time ? I have 
thought that you might have had a sudden attack of 
dementia.’' 

No ; it was not that. I did not know it at the time, 
but I was not free to marry Mr. Desmond. I discov- 
ered that I had made a frightful mistake, and I knew no 
way to rectify it except to go away. I am sorry for 
Mr. Desmond, but I am not his wife, and I can never 
see him again.” 

Never 

“Never!” said Beryl, firmly. “He is free. In time 
he may marry some one whom he will love. I pray 
that God will pardon me for the blight I have brought 
upon his life, and make him forget me.” 

“ My dear,” said Mrs. Margie, “ this is all nonsense. 
You have got some curious notion in your head, but 
Mr. Desmond will reason it all out of you in no time. 
You have treated him cruel in running off from him as 
you have, but he’ll never throw it up to you if you’ll go 
back to him. If you think that your marriage to him 
is all wrong, why not reason the matter over with him ? 
He is a well-principled, honorable young gentleman, 
and won’t let his feelings influence his convictions. 
Don’t set up your opinion against that of the rest of the 
world, but take advice ; counsel with Mr. Desmond and 
that lawyer that comes so often to see him.” 

“ I know I am right, Mrs. Margie, and I could not 
bear the pain of seeing Mr. Desmond. I am nothing to 
him now. You don’t know, Mrs. Margie ; you can 
never know — ” 

“ I know one thing,” said the woman, as Beryl paused, 
“ and that is that I am going to take you back to your 


A STARTLING DISCOVERY. 


299 


husband if I have to hire a policeman to help me. You 
are not in your right mind, Mrs. Desmond ; and whether 
you are or not, your husband is your best protector.*' 

She clutched Beryl yet more closely, and looked up 
and down the street for an empty cab. They were in 
Regent street now, in the midst of the throng of the 
promenaders, and did not attract any special attention 
as they walked on with the crowd. 

Suddenly Mrs. Margie came to an abrupt halt, utter- 
ing an exclamation of astonishment. 

“ What is it ?’* asked Beryl. 

“ Look — in the carriage yonder !’* cried Mrs. Margie. 

Do you see that man with the red hair and beard ? 
Look, quick ! You see him ?’* 

‘‘ Yes, yes," said Beryl, shrinking back ; ‘‘ I see him." 

“ What a fate that I should have seen him to-day, and 
for the first time in seventeen years !" cried Mrs. Margie, 
relaxing her hold of Beryl in her excitement. When 
did he get back to England ? I can hardly believe the 
evidence of my senses ! Mrs. Desmond, that man is 
Colonel Gray, your own father !" 

Beryl looked after the luxurious carriage as if spell- 
bound. 

The man whom Mrs. Margie had pointed out to her 
as Colonel Gray and her own father was Lord Hawk- 
hurst. 

Beryl did not know him as the earl, but she recognized 
him as the gentleman she had seen at Hawkhurst House. 

“ That man my father !" she ejaculated. 

“ Yes, miss ; your own father. I know him by his red 
hair, his big features, and his red, bristling beard. He 
has grown older, but he has not greatly changed. Those 
fair men do not show age as dark men do. It don’t seem 


300 


A STARTLING DISCOVERY. 


possible, but your father has turned up at last. That is 
he ; ril swear to him.*’ 

She continued to gaze after the receding carriage, as 
in a trance. But when it had vanished beyond her sight, 
she bethought herself, with a start, of her prisoner. 

Turning hastily, she found that Beryl had taken 
advantage of her pre-occupation, and was gone. 

Mrs. Margie began a wild search for her, but Beryl 
had utterly disappeared, and the lodging-house keeper 
was forced to continue her way to Wells street alone, 
but with her marvelous story of adventure at her 
tongue’s end. 

It had happened that an omnibus had drawn up at the 
curbstone to admit a lady who had signaled it. Beryl, 
seeing her opportunity, had also entered it, and was 
some rods away before Mrs. Margie had discovered ♦^hat 
she had vanished. 

Beryl returned to Bayswater without further adven- 
ture. 

She had scarcely removed her outer garments and 
seated herself by the fire to think over the fateful dis- 
covery of her father, when Miss Cavanagh knocked at 
her door and entered the room. The landlady looked 
angry, suspicious and determined. 

Excuse my intrusion. Miss Star,” she said, ‘‘ but I 
came up to bring a note which a gentleman left here 
during your absence. He is your cousin, Kate says.” 

Beryl’s face flushed, all over, but she took the note 
which Miss Cavanagh extended to her. It was sealed. 

“ The gentleman called to see you, and seemed con- 
cerned because you were not in,” continued Miss 
Cavanagh. So he wrote that note, sealed it and left 
it.*' 


A. STARTLING DISCOVERY. 


301 


Beryl tore open the envelope. The letter contained 
but few words, and they were as follows : 

“Beryl: I must see you on important business. 
Shall call again to-morrow evening at half-past nine 
o’clock. Dane.” 

Beryl crumpled the letter in her hand and thrust it 
into her pocket. 

“ Of course your business is your business and not 
mine, Miss Star,” said Miss Cavanagh, “ and I’m not 
wanting to pry into your affairs, but I mnst speak my 
mind, that’s all. The gentleman was handsome enough, 
but there was that in his face I did not like, although 
he understands blarney well enough. I’ll say that for 
him. I wish to ask if he told Kate the truth. Is he 
your cousin ?” 

Beryl hesitated. She would not lie, and she could 
hardly confess so much of the truth without confessing 
the whole. 

“Your silence is sufficient answer,” said Miss 
Cavanaghc He is not your cousin. You told me that 
you were poor and friendless. I took you in out of pity 
and kindness, and how am I rewarded ? You told me 
that you came from school at Vevay, and must earn 
your own living. Sure, 1 thought it was next to an 
angel you were. But one day when I was out, comes 
this young man to see you as bold as brass. Does that 
look like friendlessness ? And you told me never a word 
of your 'cousin.’ It’s mighty careful you’ve been not to 
mention his name to me since. And one evening you 
went out and returned home very late in a cab, and you 
never gave me an explanation of that either. Why 
should girls of your age receive gentlemen visitors and 


302 


A STAETLING DISCOVERr. 


go out at evening alone ? It's sore wounded and 
troubled I am. I feel that I have been cheated and 
deceived. It’s not of myself Fm thinking, nor of my 
house. You will go away and never mind me at all ; 
but I shall think often and often of the girl I liked and 
took into my house, but who turned out badly. Oh, 
Miss Star, why are you not as innocent and good as you 
seem ?” 

The warm-hearted Irish woman choked a little, and 
put her handkerchief to her eyes. 

Are you really my friend, Miss Cavanagh ?” asked 
Beryl. 

“ I am ; indeed, and I am. And if you'll say to me 
now that it’s all right. I’ll believe in you still," said the 
landlady. ‘‘ I came to tell you that I must have your 
room, but sure you can give me an explanation. When 
I look into your face I cannot believe evil of you." 

I am worthy of your esteem. Miss Cavanagh," said 
Beryl, gravely. I need a friend. I should like to con- 
fide in you, and believe you will never betray my con- 
fidence." 

‘‘ Never. If I find — but of course, you are worthy of 
my recommendation. Miss Star ; I can get some sort of 
situation for you, perhaps," said Miss Cavanagh, bright- 
ening. I thought of you to-day when I was at 
Hawkhurst House — an earl’s house, my dear — in Park 
Lane—’’ 

Hawkhurst House ?’' 

^‘Yes. It’s a perfect palace, and that grand that 
you’d think the people must be happy there as in 
Paradise. My cousin is lady-housekeeper there. She 
was a McGinnis of County Clare, and married a 
Dominick. She is a widow, is Mrs. Dominick, and quite 
the grand lady with her big gold chains. She treated 


A STARTLING DISCOVERY. 


303 


me to tea out of real china cups as thin as paper, and 
India sweetmeats, and such delicacies as earls live on. 
But this earl is not happy, by reason that his health is 
failing him quite suddenlyo He’s a big, bold-looking 
gentleman, with a flaming red beard, and has a temper 
to match. His far-away cousin and heir lives with him, 
but I didn't see him. Mrs. Dominick says that the 
young gentleman is very handsome and good." 

** The earl has red hair ?” said Beryl, as Miss Cavanagh 
paused from sheer breathlessness. 

As red as live flames. Miss Star. He looks like a 
sort of human lion. But he’s ill now, though, to be sure, 
he won’t hear the word, and he would ride out to-day, and 
he roars out at the idea of seeing a doctor. He needs 
some one to wait upon him, and read to him, and copy 
his manuscripts, and write his letters, and he won’t let his 
heir nor his heir’s wife do it for him. He told Mrs. Dom- 
inick to find him some honest, well-bred gentlewoman to 
come in for a few days to serve as nurse and amanuensis, 
and if you were not too young, now, I should say this was 
the very place for you. It would lead to employment 
elsewhere." 

“ Oh, Miss Cavanagh," cried Beryl, excitedly, ** it is the 
place for me ! I must go there ! I must !’’ 

‘‘ But you are too young," said the landlady, drawing 
back in surprise. 

“ I can disguise myself to appear older. All the secrets 
of my life are centering about that house. Hear me, 
and help me. I can wear a black wig, and darken my 
face, and wear spectacles, and no one there would know 
me, not even the earl’s heir. Listen !’’ 

In a quick, impassioned voice, every word ringing 
with truth and honesty. Beryl poured forth her own and 
her mother’s story. She knew that she could trust Miss 


304 


IN THE STRONGHOLD OF HER ENEMIES, 


Cavanagh, and she held nothing back, telling of her birth, 
her education, her first and second marriages, and all 
the more recent events, including her discovery of her 
father that day. Miss Cavanagh interrupted her now 
and then, put a question or two, but believed the story 
implicitly from first to last. 

‘‘ I have only one object in life now,’* said Beryl, in 
conclusion, and that is to clear, if possible, my mother’s 
name. I should like to know my father, myself unknown 
to him. Help me, Miss Cavanagh. I have the courage 
to meet Dane Conyers day after day and not betray my 
relationship to him. Help me to some disguise. Pro- 
cure for me this situation, and I will bless you all my 
days.’® 


CHAPTER XLIII. 

IN THE STRONGHOLD OF HER ENEMIES. 

Miss Cavanagh, having approved Beryl’s bold project 
of seeking a situation in the very stronghold of the girl’s 
enemies, proceeded with vigor and enthusiasm to assist in 
its accomplishment. That afternoon the warm-hearted 
Irish woman went out upon a shopping expedition, and 
procured at a furnishing-shop for theatre-players the chief 
essentials for Beryl’s necessary disguise. She also pur- 
chased, at a ladies’ outfitting establishment, widow’s 
caps, some neck ruffles, a widow’s bonnet and long veil, 
and a black bombazine gown. The latter required cer- 
tain alterations, which she assisted Beryl to make that 
evening. 


IN THE STRONGHOLD OF HER ENEMIES. 


305 


Upon the following morning, Beryl made her toilet 
with Miss Cavanagh's assistance. A wash, in use 
among actors and actresses, transformed her from the 
fairest of blondes into a brunette. Her eyebrows were 
skillfully darkened. Her hair was fortunately very 
short, and a black wig was fitted smoothly to her head 
and coiled into a twist behind. A pair of gold-bowed 
spectacles ; a long, straight, bombazine gown, a close- 
fitting widow’s cap ; a high neck-ruffle and deep frills 
at her wrists, with judicious padding about the figure, 
completely transformed the fair, slim girl into a seem- 
ingly elderly gentlewoman. 

‘‘ No one who had known you as Miss Star would 
know you now,” said Miss Cavanagh, in admiration of 
her own ingenuity and skill. ‘‘ You look like a curate s 
widow ; you do, indeed. But what shall you call your- 
self ? You will need a new name, you know, in your 
new character.” 

“ You must give me a name, Miss Cavanagh,” said 
Beryl. 

“It must be respectable. There's everything in a 
name, sure, though Shakespeare didn’t think so. And 
the name should not be odd, so that it would attract 
attention. I have it. You shall be Mrs. Jane Park. 
That’s simple and sounds honest.” 

“ I like the name. Jane was my mother’s name,” 
said Beryl, softly. 

The girl put on her widow’s bonnet and veil, a large 
black shawl, black gloves, and took up an Astrachan 
muff and declared herself ready. There was nothing 
in her appearance to suggest disguise. She looked, in 
this dress, as in her usual garb, the true and perfect 

“Come down to my drawing-room, Miss Star,” said 


306 


IN THE STRONGHOLD OF HER ENEMIES. 


Miss Cavanagh — I mean Mrs. Park. Sure I must get 
used to the name, or I shall spoil it all. Pll put on 
my own bonnet, and we’ll go directly to Hawkhurst 
House.” 

They descended the stairs to the drawing-room, but 
had scarcely entered the apartment when there came a 
loud and peremptory ring at the garden-bell. Beryl 
looked out of the window as Kate hurried out with the 
key of the garden-door in her hand. 

“ I fear you are going to have a call. Miss Cavanagh,” 
said Beryl. “ I can see three gentlemen outside — ” 

It’s the parish rates, perhaps,” said Miss Cavanagh. 
“ I may have to see them, worse luck, but they can’t 
detain us long. Trust the parish officers for coming 
promptly.” 

But they were not the parish officers to whom Kate 
gave admittance. Beryl drew back in the shadow of 
the curtain, recognizing the visitors. They were Noble 
Desmond, Mr. Sherwald and William Star of Star- 
wood. Beryl retreated toward her landlady, with a 
countenance of dismay, explaining breathlessly who 
were the intruders. 

“ They are coming in !” cried Miss Cavanagh. Was 
there ever such a stupid as Kate ? Old Connaught has 
not the like of her. She’s confessed you live here and 
that you’re at home. Step into my room. Miss Star, 
honey, and I’ll speak to them.” 

Beryl passed into the adjoining room, and not an 
instant too soon. Honest Kate was marshaling the gen- 
tlemen up the stair. She ushered them into the draw- 
ing-room, declaring that she would summon Miss Star, 
and went blundering up to Beryl’s room. 

Miss Cavanagh emerged from the shadow in which 


IN THE STRONGHOLD OF HER ENEMIES. 


307 


she had stood a moment unseen, and greeted the gentle- 
men with smiling courtesy. 

‘‘ Is it the parish officers you are, sirs she asked, 
with a spice of her saucy Irish brogue. “ Well, it’s 
prompt you are, anyhow. The grass don't grow under 
your feet while you are collecting the rates. I’ll swear 
to that." 

“ We are not the parish officers, madam," said Mr. 
Sherwald. ‘‘ We — " 

‘‘You are the water rates? Well, there’s not much 
difference. It’s money you’re wanting all the same. 
There’s never an end at all to the outgo of money. It’s 
one thing and another by day and by night, and no 
peace at all with it all. How much are you wanting 
this time ?" asked Miss Cavanagh, in a tone of exaspera- 
tion. 

“ I tell you, madam, that you are mistaken," said Mr. 
Sherwald, impatiently. “ We are not officers of any 
kind. We are come here to call upon your lodger. Miss 
Star. The servant has gone up to summon the young 
lady." 

“ We are her friends," said Noble Desmond. “ It 
may be that she will not come down to us. In that 
case, we desire to be permitted to go up to her room." 

“ The young lady is my niece," said Mr. Star, stiffly 
and somewhat reluctantly. “ My relationship tocher 
gives me a right to intrude upon her, whatever her 
objections." 

At this juncture, Kate reappeared, with a very blank 
visage. 

“ Miss Star is not in her room," she announced. 
“ And I can’t find her hat and sacque, and she must have 
gone out, though it was not I let her out. She went 
out of one of the neighbor’s gates. I mind them 


308 


IK THE STRONGHOLD OF HER ENEMIES. 


Thompsons had their gate open an hour this morning, 
and they are next neighbors. Miss Star must have 
gone out to try to sell them embroideries, poor soul !’' 

‘‘ Are you sure she’s not in her room ?” demanded 
Desmond, his countenance changing. She might have 
seen us enter — ” 

‘‘And be hiding, d’ye mean? Oh! no, sir. She’s a 
born lady, and ’d scorn to do the like of that. She’s 
gone out,” affirmed Kate, “ and if your business is pres- 
sin’, and you’d like to see her, why, you must come 
again when she’s at home.” 

It was plain that Kate believed Miss Star to have gone 
out. Miss Cavanagh’s Irish face was quietly impassive. 
One would not deem her cognizant of Beryl’s where- 
abouts. The gentlemen were forced to accept the situa- 
tion. 

“ Have you any idea when Miss Star will be in, 
madam ?” asked Mr. Sherwald, addressing the landlady. 

“ Sure and how should I ?” she replied. “ I didn’t 
even know that she was out. If you are her friends, you 
can call again. You might call this evening,” she added, 
artfully. “ She’s always in in the evenings.” 

“We will come -again this evening,” said Desmond, 
gravely. “ Be sure to tell her, madam, that we are her 
friends, and that it is of the utmost importance that we 
should see her. Stay, I will leave a note for her.” 

He drew out his note-book and a pencil, and wrote 
the following words upon a loose scrap of paper : 

“ Beryl, My Own Wife : A friend of mine, Mr. Sher- 
wald, discovered your place of refuge yesterday by fol- 
lowing Conyers, wliom he suspected of knowing it. 
Your uncle is with Mr. Sherwald and me as I write these 
hasty lines. Mr. Star repents his cruelty to you, and 


IN THE STRONGHOLD OF HER ENEMIES. 


309 


will take you home to Starwood, provided that you per- 
sist in keeping away from me. My poor little wife, I 
want to take care of you, to cherish you, to reason away 
this vagary of yours that Conroy lives. There is no 
doubt that he is dead. Only give me a few minutes* 
speech with you, my darling. 

‘‘ Your Lover and Husband.’* 

Desmond folded the scrap of paper and inclosed it in 
an unused envelope which was also in his note-book. 
He hesitated an instant upon the address, then wrote the 
name, “ Miss Star.** 

** Will you give that to her, madam, upon her return ?’* 
he asked, placing the missive in Miss Cavanagh’s 
hands. 

The landlady replied in the affirmative. Desmond 
knew that she could be trusted to keep her word, and 
proposed to his friends a departure. They went out 
with evident reluctance, and Kate gave them egress at 
the garden-door. 

When they were fairly in the street, Sherwald said, in 
a tone expressive of dissatisfaction : 

“That servant thought that Miss Star was out, but 
she was not. That Irish woman was hiding the young 
lady, take my word for it.** 

“ I am of your opinion, Sherwald,** said Desmond, 
“but the landlady will give Mrs. Desmond my note, and 
when we go back she will receive us.** 

“ Let us wait on the street-corner and give her time 
to read the letter,*^ said Mr. Star. “ In the course of 
twenty minutes we’ll go back again.'** 

This proposition met with approyal. The three gen- 
tlemen came to a halt upon the street-corner and 
waited. 


310 


IN THE STKONGHOLD OF HER ENEMIES. 


In the meantime, Miss Cavanagh had carried Des- 
mond’s letter into the inner room where Beryl waited. 
She found the girl with her head buried in the cushions 
of a couch, her form trembling as if the voice of Des- 
mond had stirred her being to its center. 

“ Mr. Desmond left a note for you, Miss Star,” she 
said, gently. Did you hear all that was said ?” 

Beryl reached out her hand for the note, bowing her 
head. 

“ Mr. Desmond is very handsome, but he looks as if 
he had suffered terribly,” said Miss Cavanagh. ‘‘ It’s a 
hard fate that’s parted you two, but you have done 
right, my dear. You couldn’t have done otherwise that 
I can see.” 

She withdrew to send Kate out for a cab and to put 
on her bonnet, leaving Beryl alone. When she returned, 
a few minutes later, she found her lodger in the draw- 
ing-room, quite calm and composed. Beryl had learned 
self-control in a stern school, and she was one to hide 
her sorrows. 

“ The cab is coming, my dear,” said Miss Cavanagh. 

And Kate says that the gentlemen who called to see 
you are standing at the street-corner, as if they were 
watching. They do not believe you are gone out, and 
will be back again presently. We must hasten or they 
will intercept us.” 

They hastened down-stairs, and reached the gate as 
the four-wheeled cab drove up. Beryl entered the 
vehicle first. Miss Cavanagh followed, and they drove 
away as Desmond and his companions hastily returned. 
The gentlemen saw the lady in black as she passed out 
to the cab, and all were positive in their belief that she 
was no other than Beryl ; but the vehicle rolled rapidly 


IN THE STEONGHOLD OF HEK ENEMIES. 


311 


away in an opposite direction, and they had no oppor- 
tunity to even address her. 

On arriving at Hawkhurst House, in Park Lane, they 
were shown into the housekeeper’s room and into the 
presence of its owner. 

Mrs. Dominick received “ Mrs. Park ” with great 
politeness, and showed her especial attention. As the 
acquaintance progressed, and inquiries into “Mrs. 
Park’s ’’ antecedents seemed imminent. Miss Cavanagh 

adroitly remarked ; . . , u 

“You were telling me yesterday, Mrs. Dominick, that 
Lord Hawkhurst was ill and wanting some one to wait 
upon him, and I have made bold to bring my friend, Mrs. 
Park, to apply for the situation. I’ll answer for her, and 
you know that my word is good as gold. If a curate s 
^jdow— a respectable, refined gentlewoman— would 
suit his lordship, Mrs. Park would suit him. 

“ He does not want a nurse,’’ said the housekeeper. 
“ His valet nurses him, and only this morning his lord- 
ship flung a book at the valet’s head for some clumsi- 
ness. He wants some one to write his letters at his 
dictation, to read to him, to amuse him, and he wants a 
lady to do these offices for him. He says that a gentle- 
man is out of place in a sick-room. Mrs. Conyers read 
to him yesterday and wrote out his letters, but when 
she went out he gave a kind of groan and put the letters 
on the fire. He did not know that I saw him do it, but 
I knew the reason. The handwriting was fine and 
spidery, and could hardly be made out. And her read- 
ing was affected and unpleasing. My lord begged me 
to find some one to-day to come for a week or two, and 
I have already taken two ladies— friends of mine, for 
whom I sent— in to him at different times, but his lord- 
ship is very particular, and neither of them suited. One 


312 


IN THE STRONGHOLD OF HER ENEMIES. 


was affected in her speech. The other had a strong 
Scottish accent. So you see, Mrs. Park, that it depends 
entirely upon his caprice whether he engages you or 
not. If you can bear his temper, and he should be 
pleased with you, he will pay you liberally.’* 

“ Is gastric fever a dangerous disease ?” asked Beryl. 

“As in all fevers, people die of it, but I don’t think 
my lord will die. He is a very giant for strength. His 
illness is to me most mysterious. He is temperate in 
his living and all his habits. People seem to have the 
impression that he is very ill. They were leaving cards 
all day yesterday, even when he was out. The medical 
man said this morning that his lordship is not to see 
many visitors. I notice that people are paying court to 
Mr. and Mrs. Conyers assiduously now. Mr. Conyers 
is Lord Hawkhurst’s heir,” the housekeeper added, for 
Beryl’s benefit. 

“And if Lord Hawkhurst dies Mr. Conyers will be 
the next earl, will he not ?” asked Beryl. 

“Yes. Mr. Conyers is a distant relative, but the 
nearest in order of succession to the title. The property 
is not like most noblemen’s estates ; it is not entailed, 
and if my lord were to die without a will it would be 
divided equally between Mr. Conyers and Mr. Desmond, 
who have equal claims.” 

Beryl started. 

“Mr. Desmond?” said Miss Cavanagh. “Who is 
he ?” 

“A young kinsman of my lord. He is Noble Des- 
mond, a young barrister.” 

“Ah !” muttered Miss Cavanagh. “She’s in the very 
ne§t of ’em, sure. The earl and Conyers and Desmond 
are all one tribe, anyhow, and that’s curious.” 

“I didn’t understand,” said Mrs. Dominick. “Were 


IN THE STRONGHOLD OF HER ENEMIES. 


313 


you asking further about young Mr. Desmond ? Don’t 
you know the family history ? The family name of the 
earls of Hawkhurst is Desmond. When my lord was a 
young man and before he came into the title, he was 
Lord Gray Desmond.” 

Gray r murmured Beryl. “Was he ever a colonel 
in the army ?” 

“ No ; his father was earl, and he was the heir. He 
had no need of any profession,” said Mrs. Dominick. 
“ Mr. Conyers’s father was a Desmond, but changed his 
name to Conyers on marrying an heiress of that name. 
My lord is a widower and childless, Mrs. Park, but he’s 
young still, being not over fifty years of age. Mr. 
Conyers will inherit everything at my lord’s death, 
except a trifling annuity to Mr. Desmond, I suppose.” 

At this moment, a bell rang sharply close at hand. 

“My lord’s bell,” said Mrs. Dominick, rising. “ He is 
calling for me. He is in the library. Come with me, 
Mrs. Park, and I will present you to his lordship. 
Bridget Cavanagh, just wait until I come back to you. 
Keep up your courage, Mrs. Park ; don’t get fright- 
ened ; there’s no knowing but that his lordship may 
engage you. I’ll give you a warm recommendation, 
for my cousin’s sake. Come !” 

She led the way into the hall and up-stairs to Lord 
Hawkhurst’s library. 


314 


THE DESTROYER AND THE HEALER. 


CHAPTER XLIV. 

THE DESTROYER AND THE HEALER. 

The earl was alone. The wintry light streamed into 
the great library, which was bright, warm and luxuri- 
ous. Upon a writing-desk lay a half-finished letter, the 
ink not yet dry. Lord Hawkhurst had been writing, 
but had been arrested in his task by a sudden spasm of 
weakness that had sent him staggering to his couch. 

Mrs. Dominick came into the room, followed by 
Beryl. 

‘‘ Are you worse, my Lord ?** asked the housekeeper, 
approaching him. Shall I send for the doctor ? Shall 
I call Mrs. Conyers ?” 

No, no,’' gasped the earl. I shall be all right 
directly. It’s the cursed medicine — I burn alive every 
time I take it. The infernal doctor — ” 

He paused, growing ghastly pale. 

Beryl’s quick eyes detected a carafe of iced water on 
the table. She poured some of the liquid in a goblet 
and brought it to the earl, placing it to his lips. He 
drank it unhesitatingly, revived, and stared at her with 
returning strength. 

‘‘My Lord,” said Mrs. Dominick, “this is Mrs. Park, 
a curate’s widow, who may be able to please you and 
attend upon you for a week or so till your Lordship 
gets out again. I can recommend her in the very high- 
est terms.” 


THE DESTEOYER AND THE HEALER. 


315 


Beryl retreated a little. The earl sat up and looked 
at her keenly. 

Copy that portion of a letter on my desk, Mrs. 
Park,” he said. 

Beryl obeyed. The handwriting, clear and distinct, 
appeared to please him, for he uttered an approving 
“ Humph.” 

Let me hear you read,” commanded the earl. 

Beryl took up a volume of history upon the table, and 
read a paragraph. 

‘‘Humph!” said the earl again. “ You’ll do. You 
can stay, madam. I suppose you can do what you are 
told to do. I am not so well as I thought. I want you 
to give me my medicines henceforth, and to be at hand 
when I want you. You can take off your bonnet and 
finish reading that chapter aloud which you began.” 

“Til take your bonnet to my room, Mrs. Park,” said 
Mrs. Dominick, well pleased that Beryl’s services had 
been accepted and herself consequently relieved of 
many additional cares that had pressed sorely upon her. 
“By and by I’ll show you up to your room. Shall I 
take any word to Miss Cavanagh ?” 

“ No,” said Beryl, removing her hat, veil and shawl. 
“ I have no word to send except that I am grateful to 
her and to you.” 

Mrs. Dominick went away with Beryl’s outer 
garments, and the girl took her seat at a convenient 
distance from the earl and read aloud to him as he 
had requested. 

Her voice, low and sweet, clear and distinct, thrilled 
him like music heard long ago. He watched her in a 
species of fascination, as she read through her spectacles, 
the glass of which was ordinary window-glass, nothing 
more. There were tears in his frosty blue eyes as he 


316 


THE DESTROYER AND THE HEALER. 


listened, and he wiped them away furtively. Her voice 
reminded him keenly of a voice that had long ago been 
hushed in death. 

In the pause between the paragraphs Beryl now and 
then stole a glance at him. She believed him to be her 
own father. She had come here in disguise, hating him 
with a bitter, furious hatred, as one who had wronged 
her mother and driven that mother to her death. But 
she could not look upon him and hate him still. His 
massive head, his grand figure, his rough-hewn features, 
his look of conscious power, were all full of a subtle 
magnetism that drew her liking in spite of herself. She 
could not wonder that poor Jenny Star had abandoned 
her kindred for his sake. She felt that she could love 
him, and struggled against the outgoing warmth and 
tenderness of her heart as if it had been a crime to love 
him, as if love for him implied disrespect to the memory 
of her dead mother. She felt an impulse to go to him, 
to kneel down beside his couch, to call him father and 
implore his love and protection ; but she scorned herself 
for the impulse, and told herself that she must be going 
mad. 

She finished reading and lapsed into silence. 

‘‘ I have to take my medicine every two hours,*' said 
Lord Hawkhurst. “ Is it two o'clock ?" 

Beryl looked toward the mantel-piece. The little 
ormolu clock was on the stroke of two. 

It is two o’clock," she said, and the silvery chimes 
corroborated her assertion. 

“The medicines are on the cabinet yonder,” said 
Lord Hawkhurst. “ The tall phial with the double label 
contains my medicine. You can pour it mto the goblet 
beside it." 

Beryl went to the cabinet. The phial indicated con- 


THE DESTEOYER AND THE HEALER. 


317 


tained a clear, colorless liquid like water, destitute of 
sediment. 

‘‘ One teaspoonful,*' said the earl. 

The teaspoon lay on a tiny silver tray at hand. Beryl 
was about to take it up when the door opened and 
Octavia entered the room. 

Beryl's hand trembled so that the spoon rattled against 
the glass, and she averted her face instinctively. 

Octavia, dressed in an elaborately embroidered dark- 
blue cashmere costume, had nearly crossed the floor 
before she detected Beryl’s presence. Then she stopped 
short, with a look of surprise on her dark, unlovely face. 

“ It is actually two o’clock !" she observed, in a high, 
affected voice. After all, I am prompt, Lord Hawk- 
hurst. I am in time to give you your medicine.” 

The earl frowned. Her voice grated harshly upon his 
ears. 

Mrs. Conyers,” he said, quietly, “ this lady is my 
attendant, Mrs. Park. Mrs. Park, let me present you to 
Mrs. Conyers.” 

Octavia bowed superciliously. That she was not a 
lady in grain as in outward appearance was apparent in 
her treatment of one she believed to be her social 
inferior. 

Oh ! a nurse,” she said, looking at Beryl insolently. 

Why did you not send for me, my Lord, to negotiate 
with this person ? Dominick is well enough in her place, 
but she is not competent to select a nurse for you.” 

‘‘ I engaged her myself, Octavia,” said the earl. Mrs. 
Park is a lady, and I desire her to be treated with 
respect.” 

Octavia flashed a look of dislike at Beryl. She could 
not penetrate the girl’s disguise, but she disliked the 
new-comer instinctively. 


318 


THE DESTROYER AND THE HEALER. 


So long as Mrs. Park conducts herself properly, she 
will be treated with respect,'* said Octavia, carelessly. 
‘‘ These medicines are very powerful, and the doctor has 
enjoined the utmost care in dealing them out. It is a 
task that should not be intrusted to a stranger. I have 
measured out all his lordship’s medicines heretofore, and 
shall continue to do so, although you may administer 
them." 

“ I think I need not trouble you further, Octavia," 
said the earl. ‘‘ Mrs. Park can measure out the medi- 
cines as exactly as you." 

Octavia's features worked in seeming grief. She 
looked sorely wounded and hurt. 

Oh," said she, may I not feel that in one thing at 
least I am indispensable to you ? Is there not one thing 
I can do better for you than any one else, my Lord ? I 
love you as if you were my own father — " 

I beg your pardon, Octavia," said the earl, as her 
voice broke down, and she put her handkerchief to her 
eyes. You can measure my medicines, if doing so gives 
you any pleasure. I am glad you are so fond of me and 
solicitous of my welfare, I am sure." 

Mrs. Conyers recovered her equanimity very rapidly. 
Be good enough to bring the water, Mrs. Park," 
she said. ‘‘ It is necessary to dilute the medicine." 


IN THE SICK-KOOM. 


319 


CHAPTER XLV. 

IN THE SIC K-ROOM. 

The earl lay back and closed his eyes. Beryl 
hastened to bring the carafe of water. Her movements 
were so expeditious that she was in time to see Octavia 
slip a tiny phial back in her pocket, a phial which Beryl 
had not before seen, and which had no counterpart on 
the cabinet. 

A horrible suspicion came into the girl’s mind. 

She rejected it on the instant. It seemed too mon- 
strous for belief. She knew as well as if she had seen 
the act, that Octavia had dropped into the medicine 
destined for the earl, some portion from the mysterious 
little phial now in Mrs. Conyers’s pocket, and yet she 
dared not acknowledge her conviction even to herself in 
that moment of horror and bewilderment. 

‘‘ Give him that,” said Octavia, ostentatiously drop- 
ping a spoonful of water into the mixture. 

Beryl hesitated. Then, telling herself that she was 
foolish, and that her suspicions were unfounded, and a 
shame to the mind that had conceived them, she crossed 
the room with the goblet and placed it in Lord Hawk- 
hurst’s hands. 

He drained the glass at a draught. 

I do hope the medicine will do you good, my Lord,” 
said Octavia, sympathetically, approaching the earl. 
‘‘You were looking most miserable when I entered the 


320 IK THE SICK-ROOM. 

room. I pray that you will not have another of those 
dreadful paroxysms to-night.^' 

The earl did not answer. 

Octavia remained in the library only a few minutes 
longer, going away to her own room. 

She had scarcely departed, when a terrible paroxysm 
of pain seized upon the earl, and he groaned in his utter 
anguish. The cold sweat poured off his distorted 
features. Beryl brought him cold water to allay the 
burning sensation in his stomach, and placed sal volatile 
at his nostrils, and wiped his face with a soft handker- 
chief, and held his hands in her own. His unconscious 
grip upon her hands was like the pressure of iron 
clamps, but she made no outcry nor complaint. 

The spasm of pain and weakness was not prolonged. 
The earl began to revive after a little and be himself 
again. 

That is the worst attack I have had,*' he said feebly. 

I think each attack is worse than those that preceded.** 

He looked at Beryrs red and bruised hands, and 
stammered out an apology. 

‘‘ You must think me a perfect bear, Mrs. Park,** he 
exclaimed. beg your pardon. You are a brave 
woman. Why did you not run for help, or set up a 
screaming ?** 

You needed me to wait upon you,** replied Beryl, 
with a faint smile, the first he had seen on her lips. “ I 
couldn't be spared to indulge in hysterics. Do you 
really think, sir, that every paroxysm is worse than the 
one before it ?** 

“ I do. I think my disease is becoming serious, but 
that pig-headed doctor does not understand my case at 
all. His medicines do not agree with me. I am con- 
stantly growing worse.** 


IN THE SICK-ROOM. 


321 


“ I think you will begin to mend now,” said Beryl. 
“I am sure you will be restored to health in a week.” 

She spoke with such confidence and assurance that 
Lord Hawkhurst was cheered and encouraged, in spite 
of his gloomy forebodings. 

A few minutes later. Lord Hawkhurst’s valet came in, 
bearing a small silver tray laden with delicacies. Beryl 
excused herself and descended to the housekeeper’s 
room. 

Miss Cavanagh was gone. Mrs. Dominick had pre- 
pared a tempting luncheon for Mrs. Park,” and was 
about to go up to the library for her when Beryl 
appeared. The two lunched together. Beryl said 
nothing of what she had seen, or what she suspected, 
but made herself so agreeable that Mrs. Dominick was 
charmed with her. After the luncheon, the house- 
keeper conducted the girl to the room she was to 
occupy. 

It was on an upper floor, but not in the topmost story, 
where the servants were lodged. It was a large, pleas- 
ant chamber, well furnished. 

‘‘I will have a fire made before you come up this 
evening, Mrs. Park,” said the good housekeeper. *^If 
you want anything at any time, let me know. One of 
the housemaids has orders to wait upon you. You can 
lie down in my room when you feel tired during the 
day, instead of coming clear up here.” 

Beryl expressed her thanks, gave a glance at her 
reflection in the mirror, and the two descended again to 
the housekeeper’s room. 

My lord will ring for you when he wants you,” said 
Mrs. Dominick. ‘‘ Sit down by the fire, Mrs. Park, and 
make yourself comfortable. It’s but little past three 
now.” 


322 


m THE SICK-ROOM. 


Beryl had a delicious little season of bodily rest, but 
her brain was more than usually active. 

Mrs. Dominick would have liked to talk with the 
little supposed widow about her deceased ‘‘ curate,'* and 
compared notes in regard to the length of their respec- 
tive states of widowhood, but Miss Cavanagh had 
warned her cousin that “ Mrs. Park ** could not bear 
any allusion to her private affairs, and she wisely 
refrained. 

Beryl asked for a goblet like that in the library, and 
obtained it readily, without exciting suspicion. 

At about half-past three, the earl's bell rang. 

That's for you, Mrs. Park," said the housekeeper. 

Beryl obeyed the summons, taking the green glass 
goblet with her. 

She found Lord Hawkhurst alone and very restless, 
walking the floor. 

I want you to answer some letters for me," he said. 

The physician has been here, but I would not have 
you summoned. I knew how tired you must be. He 
has not changed the medicines, and he thinks I am 
doing as well as he could have expected." 

Beryl wrote the required letters from his lordship’s 
dictation. He approved her penmanship, and the let- 
ters were sealed with red wax and sent out to be 
posted. 

They were hardly disposed of when Mrs. Conyers 
again made her appearance. 

“ It is four o'clock, and I am as punctual as time 
itself," she said, lightly. “ I am come to give you the 
medicine, my Lord. By the way, Mrs. Park, you were 
not at your post when the doctor was here. He was 
obliged to leave his directions with me. Bring me the 
carafe of water, please." 


IN THE SICK-ROOM. 


828 

Beryl brought the carafe. 

Mrs. Conyers busied herself in measuring out the 
medicine as before. Beryl saw no secret phial upon 
this occasion, but none the less she knew that its 
contents had been employed. 

Put in about a teaspoonful of water,'’ said Mrs. 
Conyers, moving away from the cabinet, with the 
evident intention of compelling “Mrs. Park” to bear 
the reputation of mixing the medicine. “ Be very par- 
ticular. I think, dear Lord Hawkhurst, that you are 
looking better this evening. Rollyn is greatly dis- 
tressed about you, and is coming in to see you. Poor 
Rollyn ! He has grown to love you with a filial affection.” 

Octavia’s back was turned to the new attendant. 
Beryl poured a sufficient quantity of water in the goblet 
she had brought to the library, concealing that in 
which was the medicine within a nook of the cabinet, 
and brought the clear and harmless liquid to the earl. 
He drank it as he had drunk the medicine, and did not 
remark upon the difference in taste from his usual 
draught. 

“ Shall I read to you, my Lord ?” asked Octavia 
sweetly. 

“ No,” he answered. “ I am tired. Leave me alone.” 

Octavia obeyed the injunction and retired. 

The shadows of the early winter twilight were filling 
the library, the long red lances of firelight alone 
relieved the gloom. The earl lay back on his couch 
silent, and Beryl was sitting in the shadows, when Dane 
Conyers finally came in. He did not see Beryl's dusky 
figure, but she knew his step and shrank back farther 
into the depths of her easy-chair. . 

“ Are you here, my Lord ?’’ asked Conyers, peering 
about him. “Why is there no light ?” 


324 


IN THE SICK-ROO^r. 


‘‘Yes, I am here," said the earl. “You’ve vrakened 
me up out of a sound sleep, the most refreshing sleep 
I’ve had for a week. I wish you’d not come in here till 
I send for you.’’ 

“ But is no one with you ?’’ 

“ Mrs. Park is here,’’ said the earl. “ At least, she 
was when I dropped off to sleep.’’ 

“ And are you no better to-night, sir asked Con- 
yers, anxiously. 

“You speak as if you expected to find me worse. 
I’ve had a bad day. Let me rest. I’ll see you in the 
morning, Conyers. Go, now.’* 

Conyers went out as softly as possible. 

The earl arose from his couch and crossed the floor 
several times, his face more cheerful than the girl had 
yet seen it. 

“ I feel better,’’ he announced. “ I believe I am going 
to get well, after all. I’ll have my valet in to stay with 
me awhile, so go and rest, Mrs. Park. I’ll call you 
when I want you.’’ 

“Yes, my Lord,’’ said Beryl, rising. “But will you 
promise to summon me before it is time to take more 
medicine? Will you promise to take no medicine from 
any hand but mine ?’’ 

The earl stared a little, but gave the required promise. 
Beryl arranged the two green glass goblets to her satis- 
faction, keeping one hidden within the open cabinet, 
and having rung for the valet and awaited his appear- 
ance, again retired to the housekeeper’s room. 

“ He is better,’’ she thought. “ My suspicions of that 
woman are confirmed. If I had not come she would 
have destroyed his life. What will she do next, when 
she discovers that I have balked her ? I will wait and 
see." 


A REVEALING OF TRUTH. 


325 


CHAPTER XLVI. 

A REVEALING OF TRUTH. 

It was the morning succeeding Beryl's advent at 
Hawkhurst House. The earl reclined in a Turkish 
lounging-chair before the fire in his library. He was 
fully dressed, as he had been every day throughout his 
singular illness. His malady had left its traces upon 
him, but he felt stronger, better and more cheerful on 
this morning than he had felt during the past week. 

Beryl was copying papers at a desk near the bay- 
window. Her presence in the room was very pleasant 
to the earl. He had been watching her while she wrote. 
Now the longing to hear her sweet voice, so like the 
voice of one he had loved and lost, came upon him, and 
he said : 

‘‘ I feel better this morning, Mrs. Park. I feel now 
that I am going to get well. And if I do, it is you, and 
not the physician, who will have saved my life." 

“ I, my Lord ?" said Beryl. ‘‘ It is but little I can do, 
and but little I have done." 

You have given me my medicines." 

Beryl fancied that there was a singular significance 
in his tones, and gave him a keen, quick glance, but he 
was looking into the fire, and his face was as expression- 
less as a mask. She fancied that she had been mistaken, 
and resumed her task. But her perceptions had not 
deceived her. There had been a peculiar significance 
in the earl's tone and manner. When she had begged 


A RKYEALINO 0¥ TRUTH. 

him, on the preceding day, to take no medicine what- 
ever in her absence, she had startled him, and aroused 
within him strange suspicions, which he had since been 
keen enough to verify. But as yet it was his purpose 
to keep his discovery to himself. 

‘‘Write a note forme to Mr. Sherwald, Mrs. Park, 
please,” said Lord Hawkhurst, presently. “ He is my 
solicitor. Ask him to come to me at his earliest con- 
venience — immediately, in fact.” 

“ Mr. Sherwald called yesterday, and was extremely 
anxious to see you, my Lord ; but Mrs. Conyers refused 
him admittance.” 

Lord Hawkhurst frowned darkly. 

“ I will see that he is admitted to-day,” he said. “ Why, 
I was better yesterday, and wanted to see him. Mrs. 
Conyers assumes the airs of mistress here quite too 
early.” 

Beryl wrote the letter as commanded, and it was dis- 
patched by private messenger. The hall-porter was 
then summoned to the library, and ordered to admit all 
visitors during the day who should especially desire to 
see his lordship. 

Mrs. Conyers had come in regularly during the 
preceding evening and on this morning, to measure out 
the earl’s medicine, and as regularly had left to Beryl 
the task of administering the dose. It had not been 
difficult, therefore, for Beryl to effect a secret exchange 
of goblets and to give to the earl a draught of pure 
water. The medicine had been regularly thrown away 
as prepared. 

As the hour of twelve approached, the earl lay down 
upon his couch, drew a lap-robe over him, was very 
quiet. It seemed as if he wished to appear more ill 
than he was. The physician had been in to see him and 


A REVEALING OF TRUTH. 


327 


reported favorably. Mrs. Conyers had failed to see the 
doctor, as was her wont, and had therefore not obtained 
his opinion of the condition of her ‘Mear Lord Hawk- 
hurst.” 

A little before noon Octavia entered the library. 

‘‘ How ill he looks, Mrs. Parks,” said she, in a low 
voice. Has the doctor been here ?” 

Yes, madam.” 

Why was I not summoned to see him 

I don’t know, madam,” replied Beryl, respectfully. 
“ It is not my duty to summon you. My place is here.” 

It won’t be here long, let me tell you that,” cried 
Octavia, angrily. The earl is sinking fast. I do not 
believe that he will live the day out. This gastric fever 
is very often fatal, and when disease gets hold of a con' 
stitution like his, it is more often fatal than with less 
robust persons. His lordship must be taken to his bed- 
room. This is no place for him to die.” 

“ He will not go to his bed-room, madam,” said Beryl. 
“ He slept there last night, as usual, but was in the 
library at daybreak. As long as he remains in this 
favorite haunt, he finds it easier to persuade himself 
that he is not dangerously ill. He will not give up and 
take to his bed.” 

The poor dear earl cannot possibly survive this day. 
He must be taken to his room and put to bed directly.” 

She moved toward the bell-pull. Lord Hawkhurst 
opened his eyes. Octavia halted, and, changing her 
course, returned to him. 

How do you feel now, sir ?” she asked, sweetly. 
“ Oh, I have been so distressed about you, my Lord. I 
did not sleep last night. You should have let Rollyn 
watch by you during the night, but he said that you 


328 


A REVEALING OF TRUTH. 


would have no one but your valet. Are you in much 
pain 

“No, I am growing better,'" replied the earl, briefly. 
“ I shall soon be about again.” 

He flung off the rug that covered him and walked to 
his easy-chair. There was a great deal of vigor still in 
that splendid physique, as Octavia marked with a 
changing color. She had thought him weak unto death, 
but there was power and elasticity in his ringing tread. 
He was not bowed by illness, but walked erect and 
without the support even of the stick he had used upon 
the previous day. Mrs. Conyers could not understand it. 

“ It still lacks ten minutes to twelve,” she said, with a 
glance at the clock. “ I will go up to my room a 
moment and return in time to give you your medicine, 
my Lord.” 

She glided out of the room. 

The green glass goblet stood upon the cabinet ready 
for use. Its counterpart was hidden within the open 
cabinet, within easy reach, and similarly empty. 

“ Shall I not give you your medicine now, my Lord 
asked Beryl. 

“ No,” said the earl. “ It is not yet time.” 

Beryl was tempted to tell him her suspicions, but she 
believed that he loved and trusted Octavia and would 
hear nothing to her detriment. Beryl realized that she 
should have carefully retained the draughts prepared by 
Octavia, and that she should have submitted them to the 
inspection of the doctor. She had kept her suspicions 
to herself for twenty-four hours, not knowing what she 
ought to do. She felt that she could not communicate 
them to Lard Hawkhurst, and now resolved to declare 
them to the physician upon the occasion of his next 
visit. 


A REVEALING OF TRUTH. 


329 


Mrs. Conyers was not absent above five minutes. She 
returned with a flushed countenance and walked directly 
to the cabinet and began to measure out the medicine. 
The earl watched her furtively through his half-shut 
eyes. He was in the shadow and seemed to be dozing. 

“ The water, please, Mrs. Park,*' said Octavia, hoarsely. 

Beryl brought the carafe, which was, as usual, upon 
the table. 

While the girl was executing her command Octavia 
drew a tiny phial from her pocket, unstopped it, and 
dropped its contents swiftly into the goblet. The phial 
was pushed back into her pocket, the entire movement 
being too quick even for Beryl to observe it. But the 
carl saw it. 

Octavia dropped in the water and stirred the com- 
pound with a tiny glass medicine-spoon. She was so 
engaged when the door opened, and Conyers and Mr. 
Callender came in. 

The two gentlemen hastened to pay their respects to 
the earl, who received them with grave courtesy. 

“ I am very sorry to see you so ill, my Lord," said Mr. 
Callender. ‘‘ I trust that you will soon be about again." 

‘‘I trust so, too," said Conyers. But ought you not 
to be in bed, my Lord ? Do allow us to assist you to 
your own room." 

I prefer to remain here," said the earl, shortly. “ I 
am master here yet, Conyers, and I intend to be until I 
die !" 

“ Of course, of cpurse," said Conyers, somewhat ner- 
vously. “ I don't understand you, my Lord. Did my 
suggestion offend you ?" 

The earl did not reply. The uneasiness of Conyers 
communicated itself to Callender and Octavia. 

“ Conyers meant well, my dear Lord," said Callender, 


330 


A REVEALING OF TRUTH. 


deprecatingly. “ He is so devotedly attached to you 
that he ventures to take the liberties with you which 
your own son might take. You are very ill, very ill, 
indeed ; but if you prefer to remain here your will must 
be law, even to these devoted young friends of yours.” 

“ Humph !” said Lord Hawkhurst. Mrs. Park, has 
no answer come from Sherwald yet ? Has the messen- 
ger returned ?” 

Conyers and Callender turned their gaze upon the 
little seemingly elderly woman. Beryl was in a shadow. 
She answered, in a voice she endeavored to disguise : 

“The messenger has returned, my Lord. Mr. Sher- 
wald had not yet come down to his office, but his clerk 
will send him here directly he arrives.” 

Conyers and Callender again* exchanged glances of 
alarm. Even Octavia looked around inquiringly. What 
could this demand for his lordship’s solicitor mean ? It 
certainly boded no good to them. 

Conyers glanced significantly at the goblet. Octavia 
took it up in her hand, but at that moment was heard a 
stir at the house-door, and steps upon the marble-paved 
corridor, approaching the library. Octavia set down 
the goblet instinctively, and turned her face toward the 
door. It was only a servant who entered, bearing a 
small silver tray, upon which lay a yellow envelope. 

“A telegram for Mrs. Conyers,” he said. 

Octavia took up the envelope, and the servant 
departed. 

“A telegram?” said Conyers. “From whom can it 
be ?” 

Octavia tore it open, and read its contents. Then she 
sank down in the nearest chair, as if suddenly strength- 
less. 


A REVEALING OF TRUTH. 


331 


“ What is it ?” demanded the earl. ** Read it aloud. 
Is any one ill or dead 

Conyers strode toward his wife, picked up the fallen 
document, and scanned it hurriedly.* He hesitated a 
moment, tempted to conceal the contents of the tele- 
gram, but Lord Hawkhurst was waiting expectantly, a 
look of suspicion gathering on his face. Conyers looked 
at him, gave a glance at the waiting goblet, and then 
exclaimed : 

‘‘ It’s very singular, but the telegram is dated Liver- 
pool, and purports to be from Octavia’s uncle, William 
Windsor, whom we all believed dead. He says : 

** * Mrs. Octavia Conyers : Will arrive in London 
this evening. Safe passage out. Go to Cragthorpe 
to-morrow.’ 

“ That is all, except his name. But it can’t be pos- 
sible that it is Octavia’s uncle !” 

The telegram reads as if he supposed his niece to be 
aware of the fact that he still lives,” said the earl. Did 
you know it, Octavia ?” 

I ? No, my Lord.” 

‘‘ Do you think this telegram is really from your 
uncle ?” 

“ It is, my Lord,” said Mr. Callender, smoothly. 
** Windsor is alive. He’s been out in Canada for years. 

I have known for some time that he lived, but I have 
not told Octavia nor Conyers. My poor niece believed 
herself owner of Cragthorpe, and I could not bear to 
tell her that she had no claim there. I know your 
favorite project of uniting the Windsor estates^ those 
of Hawkhurst, and regret your disappointment, sir, but 


332 


A REVEALING OF TRUTH. 


such a union would, in any case, be impossible. 
Windsor is coming home to marry and settle down.” 

How long have you known that Windsor is alive ?” 
asked the carl. 

‘ “ I have known it since the last of October, or first 
of November, my Lord,” said Mr. Callender, coolly. I 
received the news upon the morning of the day on which 
you first brought Conyers to Cragthorpe.” 

The earl’s face darkened. 

“ Why did you not tell me?” he asked. It would 
have made no difference in my regard for my old 
friend’s daughter, and it would have been only honor- 
able to have told me. You hurried up Conyers’s mar- 
riage with your niece, did you not ? I remember you 
were present at the wedding. You were in haste to 
have them married before Windsor should return, or 
I should discover the truth. Is it not so?” 

Mr. Callender smiled and did not deny the charge. 

By Heaven, I have been your dupe throughout !” 
exclaimed the earl, fiercely. I believe now that 
Octavia was a party to your schemes, that she knew 
also that her uncle was alive, and that, as she knew she 
was to lose Cragthorpe, she set to work deliberately to 
secure Hawks* Cliff.” 

He questioned Octavia if it were not so. She uttered 
a feeble denial, but her face contradicted her words. 

I have been very cleverly duped,” exclaimed the 
earl, bitterly. ‘Ht is not the loss of Cragthorpe I mourn 
for. I’m glad Windsor is alive ; but to know Octavia 
as a liar, a schemer, a — ’* 

He mused, controlling himself sternly. 

“ My^lord,” said Mr. Callender, Octavia is your 
old friend’s daughter, and the same woman, whether 


A REVEALING OF TRUTH. 


333 


owner of Cragthorpe or not.. She will make a fitting 
mistress for Hawks’ Cliff Castle — ” 

Lord Hawkhurst’s lip curled. 

Yes ; a fitting mistress, is she not ?” he said, sneer- 
ingly. fitting wife for Conyers, perhaps, but not 

the woman to preside over the house where my mother 
lived. Do not feel too sure, Mr. Callender, that your 
niece will have the spending of the Hawkhurst income. 
Mrs. Park, it is singular Sherwald doesn’t come. Send 
a second messenger for him.” 

Beryl obeyed. She had already found opportunity 
during the reading of the telegram to secretly exchange 
the goblets. The one now on the cabinet contained 
pure water. 

Octavia arose and took up the goblet from the 
cabinet. 

‘'It is past twelve,” she said, huskily. “You should 
have taken your medicine long ago, my Lord. Take it 
now.” 

Beryl stepped forward. 

“I will give it to him myself,” said Octavia, distrust- 
fully. “My Lord, you have condemned me wrongfully. 

I am not a liar nor a schemer ; only an innocent woman 
who loves her father’s old friend, and who would rather 
have his trust and affection than a thousand Hawks’ 
Cliffs. My Lord, my heart is almost broken under your 
suspicions of me. Say that you trust me still ; say that 
you believe me honest and true.” 

She glided to his side, goblet in hand. She paused a 
moment, waiting for the assurance that he did not make. 
Then she stooped and pressed a Judas kiss on his fore- 
head, and uttered a half-stifled sob or two, and meekly 
presented the draught. 


834 


A REVEALING OF TRUTH. 


He took the goblet from her hand, and looked at her 
with steady, flaming eyes. 

She involuntarily retreated a few paces. 

** Is it safe for me to drink this?** asked the earl, hold- 
ing the glass up toward the light. 

Safe !** stammered Octavia, turning pale. The 
doctor left it, my Lord. It is the medicine.’* 

“Shall I drink it?** he asked, still with that steady, 
flaming glance burning her face. 

Conyers uttered an exclamation. Callender half arose 
from his chair. Both were in a state of great excite- 
ment, the manifestation of which they could scarcely 
suppress. But Octavia, paler than before, and with a 
cruel smile on her treacherous lips, said, calmly : 

“ Yes, my Lord, drink it.” 

The earl silently raised the goblet to his lips and 
drained its contents. The glass fell from his hands to 
the floor. His head fell back upon his pillow. 

Through his half-closed eyes he could see the swift 
and sudden exultation lighting up Octavia’s dark face, 
as she flew to his side. Conyers and Callender hurried 
toward him. 

“ He is dead !** said Octavia. 

“I knew he*d go off suddenly at last,** said Conyers. 

“ He — he is not dead !” said Callender, in a tone of 
surprise. 

The earl looked up into the three faces bending over 
him and smiled oddly. 

“ Do you feel better, my dear Lord ?** questioned 
Octavia. “ Do you know us ? You are dying — ’* 

“ I think not,” said Lord Hawkhurst, coolly, his odd 
smile deepening. “ Be kind enough to stand back. I 
am feeling better.” 

“ Better !” cried Octavia. 


A REVEALING OF TRlTrH. 


335 


“Better !” ejaculated Conyers and Callender together. 

Octavia darted a questioning glance at her uncle. He 
looked surprised, even bewildered. 

“Are you not in pain, dear Lord Hawkhurst ?“ asked 
Mr. Callender. 

“None, whatever. I am getting well, I think. If I 
were not a trifle weak I should say that I never felt 
better in my life — thanks to Mrs. Park.'’ 

The conspirators looked at Beryl, at the earl, at each 
other. 

The earl sat upright in his chair, a queer, stern look 
in his fiery eyes, a mocking smile still on his lips. 

“So you thought I was done for?” he said. “By 
the way, Octavia, did you think I had made my will ?” 

Octavia could not speak, fear and surprise making 
her mute, but her looks expressed assent. 

“ I did make my will, but I destroyed it. Sherwald 
was to come yesterday with the draught of the new 
will, giving all my property to Conyers, with the 
exception of two thousand a year to Noble Desmond. 
He did come, but you refused him admittance, Octavia. 
If I were to die now, without a will, Desmond would 
inherit my property equally with Conyers.” 

The conspirators looked aghast. 

“ But I shall not die now,” continued the earl, with a 
scathing look at his three enemies. “ I haven’t taken 
your medicines, Octavia, since Mrs. Park came. The 
little preparation you made for me, a little while since, is 
in the cabinet yonder, thanks to my silent, honest Mrs. 
Park. I saw her change the goblets, as she has done 
ever since she came here. But for her, I should have 
perished at your hands. Vipers ! Serpents ! Out 
of my house, lest I invoke the vengeance of the law 
upon you !” 


336 


THE DAWN. 


He arose, majestic, terrible, and pointed to the door. 
Octavia uttered a wild shriek, and fell on her knees. 
Conyers and Callender recoiled, and stood as if trans- 
fixed. 

For a moment, a silence like that of death reigned. 
Then, again the closing of the outer door was heard, the 
tramp of feet sounded in the hall, the door of the library 
opened, and Mr. Sherwald entered, followed closely by 
Noble Desmond and Mr. William Star ! 


CHAPTER XLVII. 

THE DAWN. 

As the three gentlemen came in, Octavia struggled to 
her feet, and gasping for breath, sank into a chair. Con- 
yers and Callender still stood as if transfixed. The three 
conspirators could not accept absolute ruin without a 
struggle. They were overwhelmed by the turn affairs 
had taken. They seemed too utterly stupified and 
bewildered to obey Lord Hawkhurst’s command, but 
some vague thought of attempting to retrieve themselves 
by denials and protestations had already entered their 
minds. 

The earl resumed his seat. Mr. Sherwald, after a 
rapid, observant glance about the apartment, approached 
his lordship, with a countenance upon which a sense of 
relief was depicted. 

“ I am glad to see you so much better, my Lord, ' he 
said. ‘‘ I called yesterday and saw Mrs. Conyers, but 
she would not allow me to come in. She said that you 


THE DAWN. 


337 


were at the point of death and quite past attending to 
business.” 

Sherwald's dislike to Octavia showed itself plainly in 
this speech, which was, nevertheless, like all his utter- 
ances, literally true. 

Mrs. Conyers has been very officious, but all that is 
over now. How do you do, Desmond ? Glad to sec 
you.” 

Desmond advanced and shook hands with his august 
kinsman. 

My Lord, permit me to present to you Mr. Star, of 
Starwood, Surrey,” said Sherwald. I have brought 
him here to-day for a purpose which I will explain 
later.” 

The earl blanched a little, but greeted Mr. Star 
politely. A single glance at the grim-faced farmer 
elicited the fact that the latter had not come to Hawk- 
hurst House with any sinister designs against its owner. 

‘‘ Be seated, sir,” said Lord Hawkhurst. ‘‘ Sit down, 
Desmond. I was about to send a messenger for you. 
Sherwald, did you bring the draught of the new will I 
ordered drawn up ?” 

“ Yes, my Lord, but — ” 

“ Give it to me.” 

Sherwald drew a thin leathern envelope from his 
pocket, and produced from its incloslare the document 
in question. The earl opened it, and glanced over its 
contents. Then he laid it on the fire. It blazed up and 
vanished. 

“ So perish my intention of making Rollyn Conyers 
my heir,” said the earl, in a loud voice. He will never 
inherit one penny of my estates !” 

Octavia began to sob violently. 

Conyers said not a word. 


338 


THK DAWN. 


The earl turned toward Desmond with an eager, 
questioning face. 

“ Have you found Mrs. Desmond yet ?’' he asked. 

No, my Lord,*' said Desmond, anxiously. “ We 
traced her to a house at Bayswater, but she got away 
in disguise and eluded us. We have searched every- 
where, but are still hopeful. We are sure that we saw 
her yesterday.” 

“ So late as yesterday ?” exclaimed the earl. “ I was in 
hopes that she was found already, but I am sure that 
she soon must be. Sherwald, no stone must be left 
unturned in the search for her !” 

“ None shall be, my lord. Mr. Desmond went down 
into Surrey and found Mr. Star, who is the uncle of the 
missing lady, and, although he cannot give us any clew 
to her possible whereabouts, yet he has joined actively 
in the search for her, and has rendered us some valuable 
aid. This morning Desmond’s advertisement appeared 
in the first column of the Times^ asking for information 
of Beryl Star. It was by that name she was known in 
Bayswater. No answer has yet appeared to the adver- 
tisement, but it is too soon to look for it. It is very 
singular how near we have repeatedly come to finding 
her. Desmond saw her in Wells street. Mrs. Margie 
encountered her in Piccadilly, and yesterday she was in 
the Bayswater house when we called there, and we saw 
her leave the house in disguise.” 

“ It is singular,” said the earl. Oh ! if you had only 
intercepted her.” 

Beryl was in a far corner of the room, in a chair 
turned away from the group around the earl. She 
could hear all, herself unseen. She was very silent now, 
but her heart fluttered wildly. 

‘‘We were all together in Desmond's chambers when 


THE DAWN. 


339 


my clerk came around with your message, my Lord,” 
said Sherwald, with a growing and apparent nervous- 
ness. “ The clerk had waited for my return until he 
had despaired of my coming, instead of seeking me out 
promptly. I read your letter and gave it into Des- 
mond’s hands. The result of the discovery he made was 
to hurry us all here together. And now, my Lord, may 
we ask who penned that letter?” 

** My attendant, a gentlewoman, who has waited upon 
me since yesterday morning, and who has saved my 
life,” declared the earl, emphatically. These vipers 
you see here, and who remain when I told them to leave 
my house, have begun upon me a regular system of 
poisoning. Nothing else whatever has been the matter 
with me from the first. This devilish woman, Octavia, 
prepared the stuff for me to drink, and I drank it 
unsuspectingly. I should have been stark and stiff in 
death at this moment if Mrs. Park had not detected the 
infamous design and completely outwitted Mrs. 
Conyers.” 

“ Who is Mrs. Park ?” asked Sherwald. “ Who recom- 
mended her to you, my Lord ?” 

‘‘ My housekeeper, Mrs. Dominick.” 

How does Mrs. Park look ?” asked Desmond, eagerly. 
“ Does she dress in black ?” 

Yes, and wears spectacles and a widow’s cap.” 

“Will you summon her. Lord Hawkhurst? asked 
Desmond, arising, flushed and eager. 

“ Certainly. She’s in the room now. Mrs. Park.” 

Beryl trembled and looked about for some avenue of 
flight. There was none. She could not own up to her 
imposition, and a wild idea came to her of braving out 
the ordeal that had come upon her. The earl called her 
more loudly. She arose and came forward, the picture 


840 


THE DAWN. 


of an elderly, frightened, subdued little gentlewoman, 
her false hair banded smoothly away from her small 
face, her eyes hidden behind her spectacles. 

This is Mrs. Park, the lady to whom I owe my life,** 
said the earl. “ Mrs. Park, let me introduce to you Mr. 
Desmond, my kinsman; Mr. Sherwald, my solicitor, and 
Mr. Star. Now, gentlemen, what have you to say of 
Mrs. Park ?” 

Sherwald looked at his companions. 

I have nothing to say, except to apologize for 
troubling her,” said Mr. Star. We — I had a fancy that 
she might be my niece, after all. Mr. Desmond thought 
he recognized the handwriting as Beryl’s. I see that 
this lady cannot be Beryl, and our latest hope is 
destroyed.” 

Mr. Sherwald’s countenance expressed his disap- 
pointment. 

But Noble Desmond stepped forward, radiant and 
joyful. 

Beryl !” he said softly. Oh, Beryl, I have found 
you at last !” 

To the profound astonishment of all the spectators 
the elderly little gentlewoman gave a sharp cry of 
anguish and retreated before him. 

‘‘ Did you think you could disguise yourself beyond 
my recognition. Beryl ?” asked Desmond, tenderly. 
“ No ; you shall not escape from me. I have got you 
at last.” 

He caught her in his arms. She struggled to free her- 
self, and succeeded. 

“ You have found me out. Noble,” she said, her tones 
full of a keen pain. “ It Would have been better to let 
me alone. This disguise is useless now, and I will not 
retain it.” 


THE DAWN. 


341 


She took off her widow’s cap, wig, spectacles, and wet 
her handkerchief from the carafe of water upon the 
table and washed the stain off her face. She stood 
revealed as Beryl Star, in all her youth, innocence and 
glorious beauty — Beryl with the sombre eyes so like 
dusky stars. 

The earl stared at her speechlessly. 

Beryl,” said Mr. Star, “ I ask you to forgive all my 
cruelty to you. When I heard that you were missing, I 
feared that I had been the cause of your death. I offer 
you a home at Starwood, and if you will come to me, I 
will make you my heir.” 

Beryl,” said Desmond, eagerly, “ oh, come to me ! 
Forget that illusion regarding the existence of your first 
husband and be my own cherished wife. Beryl, my 
wife — ” 

‘‘Wait, Noble!”, said Beryl, with a sorrowful smile. 
“ Let me answer Mr. Star first. I thank you, sir, for 
your kindness, but I can never go to Starwood as one on 
sufferance.” 

“ But, Beryl, you were not to blame,” said Mr. Star. 
“ I have usurped the privileges of the Almighty and 
visited the sins of the parents on the head of their inno- 
cent offspring. I will make amends for my wicked bru- 
tality. I will give you my name, adopt you legally, 
and — ” 

“ Stay !” said the earl. “ Is this girl Beryl Star V* 

“Yes,” said Mr. Star and Desmond, in a breath. 

“ The daughter of Jenny Star ?” 

Mr. Star uttered a hesitating affirmative. 

“ Then she has no need of being adopted by any 
one,” said the earl, standing erect. “This girl is my 
daughter, and as such I acknowledge her in the presence 
of you all !” 


342 


THE DA^rN. 


There was a general exclamation of incredulity. 

Lord Hawkhurst held out his arms to Beryl, but she 
shook her head sorrowfully and would not approach 
him. "And yet she felt the subtle magnetism of his 
presence and could have flown to him, but for the 
memory of her mother’s fate. 

‘‘You have the Hawkhurst pride, I see. Beryl,” said 
the earl. “ I know what you have been taught regard- 
ing your origin, and I now declare tb you that Jenny 
Star was my lawful wife, and that you are legally and 
truly my daughter and only child. Lady Beryl Des' 
mond !” 

His lordship’s words carried conviction with them. 
The group around stood speechless. 

“ An explanation is due you, my daughter, and you, 
also, Mr. Star,” said the earl, resuming his seat through 
sudden weakness. “I became acquainted with Jenny 
Star when she was governess and companion in the 
family of Lady Fortescue. Miss Star was called in to 
play the piano very often, and, indeed, spent most of her 
evenings in the drawing-room. Notwithstanding her 
position and lack of birth, she had several admirers 
above her own rank of life. I had come into my title, 
was a widower and childless. My first marriage had 
been one of convenience. I loved Jenny Star with all 
the ardor of m}^ fierce nature. She loved me. I asked 
her to marry me and she consented. My mother was 
living then — a haughty, high-bred lady, who was build- 
ing great hopes upon a second marriage she was plan- 
ning for me. Jenny was not versed in society ways, and 
I formed the idea of molding her to my wishes. I 
married her secretly, and established a home for her at 
St. John’s Wood. We lived there together a year in 
perfect happiness. Then Jenny began to importune me 


THE DAWN. 


343 


to acknowledge our marriage. Between her and my 
mother, who was anxious that I should marry a lady she 
had chosen for me, I grew impatient and ill-tempered. 
I began to stay away from our villa for days together, 
not that I loved Jenny less, but that I did not like to be 
so constantly importuned. We had a terrible quarrel 
one day — Jenny and I — and I left her, declaring to her 
that I would never acknowledge her. They were words 
spoken in the heat of passion, and God knows I did not 
mean them. My poor Jenny ! My lost wife ! Have I 
not been terribly punished for those wild, angry words 
since ?” 

He wiped his face, which was working with agitation 
and wet with a cold sweat. 

“ I had scarcely left her, when my mother, who had in 
some way discovered my villa at St. John's Wood, 
arrived, and had an interview with my wife. My mother 
assured her that I had repented my folly in taking Jenny 
to myself, and that I loved a noble lady and desired to 
marry her. My mother confessed this and much more 
to me on her death-bed, a year later. I went home late 
that night, remorseful, and resolved to acknowledge my 
wife immediately. I went, I say, but I found her gone. 
Gone, and leaving no trace ! Gone, my wife, my loved 
one ! How madly I searched for her ! Weeks later, I 
sent a confidential messenger to Starwood, to learn if 
she had gone back to her kindred. He brought me 
word that she was dead, and told me where she was 
buried. I visited her grave. I would have taken up her 
body and interred it among those of my own people, 
but my mother dissuaded me, and it could have done no 
good. I never knew until very recently that she — my 
wife — had borne a child. I do not deserve your love. 
Beryl ; I dare not ask it ; yet I see your mother's eyes 


544 


THE DAWN. 


in yours, and if you were only to forgive me the cruel 
wrong I did her, I think that my wife in heaven would 
smile upon us and ratify that forgiveness.” 

He turned a pleading gaze upon his child. 

And Beryl, with a choking sob, flew to his arms. 

A little later. Lord Hawkhurst said, unsteadily : 

And so. Beryl, you are Desmond's wife ? He is a 
noble fellow. Dismiss your illusions, and put your hand 
in his like a loving wife. Desmond !” 

Beryl drew back from her father’s embrace, her 
brightness overshadowed. 

“ It was no illusion about my first husband.” she said. 
“ Papa — Noble — have you not guessed the truth ? 
There stands the man I married in Geneva last August 
— the man I married as Dane Conyers — the man who 
had so nearly* wrecked my life ! And he is my husband 
still.” 

Conyers smiled after a ghastly fashion. 

Yes,” he said, “ I am her husband.” 

cried the earl. It is Conyers! But it will 
be easy to procure a divorce. We will see to it at 
once.” 

‘‘ But what is Octavia, if the Lady Beryl is Conyers's 
wife ?” asked Callender. ‘‘ She has lost Cragthorpe, 
lost husband — everything.” 

“ It’s all up !” said Conyers, crossing the floor with a 
graceful step and laughing mirthlessly. ‘‘ The divorce 
will be easy to procure, as Lord Hawkhurst says. 
Octavia has lost her fortune. I am likely to be arrested 
for bigamy. It’s a bad ending for a life that began as 
fair as mine.” 

He went to the cabinet and took out the goblet with 
the poisoned draught. 

I drink to your healths, all of you,” he cried. “ My 


THE DAWN. 


345 


Lady Beryl, permit me to wish you happiness in your 
second marriage. I was not all bad ; I have loved you 
from first to last ; I love you still.” 

And he lifted the poisoned goblet to his lips and 
drank the draught that had been intended for the earl. 

His movement had been too quick for those who 
would have intercepted him. He dropped the glass 
and fell to the floor — dead ! The fragrance of bitter 
almonds on his lips told what agent had been employed 
to dissolve the tie that unites the soul to the body. 

They buried him among his kindred. Mr. Callender 
took his niece away from England, and she resumed 
her maiden name, and lived a life thenceforward whose 
bitterness only those who have been guilty like her, 
and balked in all their ambitions, can understand. 
Loathing her life, yet afraid to die — could her worst 
enemy have wished her a worse fate ? 

Lord Hawkhurst publicly acknowledged his marriage 
to Jenny Star, and acknowledged also the Lady Beryl 
Desmond as his daughter and heiress. The remains of 
ill-fated Jenny were taken up from their unhonored 
resting-place and reinterred by the side of the proud 
Lady Hawkhurst who had caused her death. 

Mr. Windsor of Cragthorpe took possession of his 
own, married, and lived happily in the home which 
Conyers had schemed to win. 

Of all the characters whom we have depicted in our 
true narrative, not one was happier in the acknowledg- 
ment of Beryl as the earl’s daughter than Mr. Star. His 
sister’s name was cleared. All his grimness disappeared, 
and the old boyish geniality that had once characterized 
him bloomed forth anew. His house was opened to his 
friends, and in time he contracted a desirable marriage, 
and was greatly blessed. For many years he had not 


346 


THE DAWN. 


spoken his sister’s name, but now a dozen times each 
day he finds occasion to mention my sister, the late 
Lady Hawkhurst,” or my niece, the Lady Beryl. 
Desmond.” 


THE END. 


A GREAT NOVEL 

By the Author of ‘‘ The Forsaken Inn.” 


A Maiter of Millions. 

BY 

ANNA KATHARINE GREEN. 

MAaNIFIGENTLY ILLUSTRATED RY VICTOR PEBAED. 

12mo. 482 Pagres. Handsomely Bound in Engrlish Cloth. G-old 
Stamping* on Cover. Price, $1.60. 


This brilliant, artistic novel will enhance the great reputa- 
tion of the popular author of ‘‘ The Forsaken Inn.’^ It is 
a story of to-day. The scene is laid in the city of New York 
and the village of Great Barrington, Mass. The story recites 
the strange adventures of a beautiful heiress who is herself so 
mysterious a creature that the reader cannot fathom her charac- 
ter until the final explanation and denouement of the plot. 
She is an intellectual and talented girl whose musical gifts make 
her admired and beloved by her own sex, and the object of 
passionate adoration of the other. The artistic life is pictured 
and exemplified by two of the principal characters. Everything 
conspires to make the story one of strong dramatic interest. 
The illustrations are admirable, and the book is beautifully 
printed and exquisitely bound. 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, Publishers, 

Comer of William and Spmce Streets, New York City. 


AN AMERICAN NOVEL 


Parted By Fate; 

OR, 

The Mysteiy of Black-Tor Lighthouse. 


By LAURA JEAN LIBBEY, 

duthor of ** lone^^* “ A Mad Betrothalf* eto,^ etc. 

With Fourteen Beautiful Illustrations By Harry 0. Edwards. 

Paper Cover, 60 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 


Miss Libbey’s novels appeal to the young, and especially to 
young women. They are lively and sparkling, abounding in 
charming sentiment and with incidents connected with courtship 
and marriage. There are so many complications possible in the 
relations of lovers that invention would seem to be an end- 
less chain. Miss Libbey^s books are among the most popular 
publications of the present time, and ‘‘Parted by Fate” a 
good example of the very best of them. 

For sale by all Booksellers, or sent, postpaid, on receipt of 
price, by 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, Publishers, 

Corner William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


Ottilie Aster’s 
Silence. 

A NOTEL. 


Translated From the German 


' By MRS. D. M. LOWREY. 

With Ntunerotis Choice lUiuitrationfl By Warren B. Davla. 


Paper Cover, 50 Gents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 


No moie charming story of the love-life of a married couple 
was ever portrayed in the pages of a novel. Romance does 
not end with marriage, and it does not require any demon- 
stration to prove it; but if it did, this novel shows how great 
are the elements of romantic interest which exist in the marriage 
relation. There is in it the beauty of family life in a pure 
household, and the mother and daughter exhibit all the beautiful 
traits which endear women to men and make the charm of the 
world. 

For sale by all Booksellers, or sent, postpaid, on receipt oi 
price, by 

ROBERT BONNER^S SONS, Publishers, 

Corner William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


Five Years 

WITH THB 

Congo Cannibals. 

By HERBERT WARD, 


Kagnlflcentl^^ Illustrated With Mauy Fall*Pagre Engravlners Alter 
Origriuai Drawings Made on the Spot By the Author. Grown 
Octavo, Blegrantiy Bound, $8.00. 


Herbert Ward^s book is the record of five years spent with the 
most savage tribes of the far interior of Africa. It contains 
many facts, hitherto unknown, concerning the life, customs and 
superstitions of the cannibal races. It abounds with thrilling 
adventures, and the story it tells of risks and dangers encountered 
in strange places, and among wild and hostile people, is one of 
fascinating interest. A flood of light is thrown on the horrors 
and cruelties existing among the millions of Central Africa. 

Mr Ward’s travels in Africa commenced in 1884, when he re- 
ceived an appointment in the service of the Congo Free State. 
He was a member of the Emin Bey Relief Expedition, and while 
in the service of Mr. H. M. Stanley, he made his memorable canoe 
journey of eleven hundred miles on the Congo. 

His book contains entirely new matter about the tribes of Cen- 
tral Africa, will have permanent interest and value^ and will be 
the standard work on that subject 


Edda’s Birthright 


By MRS. HARRIET LEWIS. 


With Seven Illiiatration». 


Paper Cover, 50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1,00. 


Edda’s Birthright ” is an excellent novel. Mrs. Lewis has 
the faculty of making a story thoroughly interesting. There is, 
in Edda’s Birthright,” a charming girl, who engages sym- 
pathy by her spirited behavior in depressing circumstances, and 
wins the heart of the reader by her truly womanly character. 
The scene of the story is the great city of London, and the 
heroine has many strange incidents and episodes in her life. 

It is her splendid courage which makes her great charm, and 

n 

which finally wins. Every one who reads this book will be well 
repaid. 

For sale by all Booksellers, or sent, postpaid, on receipt of 
price, by 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, Publishers, 

Corner William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


HOSTEHEirS STOMACH BIHERS 

A Good Alterative and Tonio for Family Purposes. 


TRY THE 

National Tonic 

FOB — 

Dyspepsia, 

Indigestion, 

Liver Complaint, 
Bhenmatism, 

Fever and Ague, 
Kidney and Bladder Disease. 



THE BITTEBS 

Strengthen the Stomach, 

Bouse the Liver, 

Begulate the Kidneys, 
Purify the Blood, 

And Bestore Health and Tigor. 


The botanic and remedial agents combined in the preparation of 
Hostetler’s Stomacli Bitters comprise some of the most efficacious 
extracts of herbs, barks, and roots known to botanical medicine, harmo- 
niously combined after along experience and observation of their practical 
effects, with a purified spirituous basis, from which all harmful elements 
are eliminated. It arouses the stagnant and impoverished blood currents, 
and sends a thrill of joy with every pulsation of the heart. 

Ask your Drnggist for it, and see that you get Hostetter’s Stomach Bitters. 

TBEEOSTEnEBCIfflPm.Fr*. 

M.L, MYERS, Secretary and Treasurer. ) PITTSBURGH, PA^ 


FACIAL BLEMISHES 

The Largest Establishment in the World for the 
[treatment of Hair and Scalp, Eczema, Moles, 
1 Warts, Superfluous Hair, Birthmarks, Moth, Frec- 
kles, Wrinkles, Bed Nose, Red Veins, Oily Skin, 
'Acne, Pimples, Blackheads, Barber’s Itch, Scars, 
Fittings, Powder Marks, Bleaching, Facial Develop- 
ment, Hollow or Sunken Cheeks, etc. Consultation 
free at office or by letter. 128 page book on all 
skin and scalp affections and their treatment, sent 
sealed to any address on receipt of 10 cents, 
JOHN H. WOODBUKY, Bermatologist^ 125 West 42d St., 
New York City. WOOBBUBY’S FACIAL SOAP for tlie Skin 
and Scalp, at Druggists, or by mail, 50 cents. 





HE SECRET of many a girl’s beauty is ber teeth. 

It becomes a secret no longer when she whis- 


pers “PROPHYLACTIC.” 

Do you use the PROPHYLACTIC TOOTH BRUSH? 

Florence Manufacturing Co., Florence, Mass., suin send you one for 
^ 5 ^. if you cannot find iU 


Merchant’s Gargling Oil. 



Burns, Scalds. Chilblains, Frost Bites, 
Chapped Hands, Flesh Wounds, 
Spr.ilns, Bruises, External Poisons. 
Toothache, Asthma or Internal Pain, 
Cramps or Spasms of Stomach, Colic, 
Bites of Animals, Galls of all kinds, 
Sitfast, Rinprbone, Spavins. 

Poll Evil, Garsret in Cows, Sweeney, 
Scratches or Grease, StringhaU, 

Foot Rot in Sheep, Windmills, 

Roup in Poultry, Fistula, 

Lame Back, Foundered Feet, 

Cracked Heels, Manpe in Doers, etc. 
Manufactured at Lockport, N. Y., by 
MERCHANT’S GARGLING OIL CO. 

JOHN HODGE. Sec’y- 



Mothers, Save Y our Children 

from diphtheria and other contagious diseases by using in your Nurseiy, 
Bath, and Sleeping Rooms the SHERMAN ** KING ” VAPORIZER* 
the ONLY €onUii.uou» and Absolut© Disinfectant 

KNOWN, PROVED, AND WARRANTED. 

With Its use, (looking Odors, and that deadly, secret, inVisible enemy. 
Sewer Gas, and all other Noxious Vapors, are rendered harmless, 

PuRXS Air 

INSURED BY USING 

The Sherman “King” Vaporizer 

Self-Acting, 

Continuous, Inexpensive, Reliable. 

ALL IMPURE AND OFFENSIVE ODORS 
ABSOLUTELY REMOVED. 

Ench Vaporizer sold is charged for use. 
No cure except to replenish once in two 
months, atexpense of4 

ing to size. Three sizes, S3. 50, SS.OO, 
S8.00. Illustrated Pamphlet free, 

SHERMAN “KINC” VAPORIZER C0MPANY^ 
Chicopee Palls, Mass. ; Boston, New York, 
Philadelphia, or Chicago. 





y ng^XIOgg^ 


IN 


have found it 


,c7 match . LE^TT^r-T^^, 


HANDS 


fv/nsii 


■-^.-n-n-iriiinnniinrTrn n-n n ii m 


LOND ON lOO YEARS , INTERNATIONAL AWARDS. 


A BRIGHT HEALTHFUL SKIN AND COAIPLEXION ENSURED BY USING 

t PEAR3’ SOAP. 

^ AS RECOMMENDED BY THE GREATEST ENGLISH AUTHORITY ON THE SKIN, 

Prof. SIR ERASMUS WILSON, 5, Pres, of the Royal Col. of Surgeons, 
«.■" / England, and j4LL other Leading Authorities on the Skin. 

^ Conntless Beauteous Lailies, iuclniling Mrs. Lillie Langtry, recomienl its virtnes' 

AND PREFER PEARS* SOAP TO ANY OTHER. 

*MJ following from the world-renowned Songstress is a sample of thousands of Testimonials.; 

Testimonial from Madame ADEEINA PATTI, * 

^ “T HAVE FOUND IT MATCHLESS FOR ^ ^ ^ 

M ItHE HANDS AND COMPLEXION” ^ o/^l 

WK^^ea.r3* Soap is for Sale through- — 

the Civilized World. ^ 



t 


I 




,* . 


■ % 


=X r., 


./< 
•^- •: 


• * • ^ * • • I > 

' • <t » • • . > • 

xA,. 


, j y . V7 « - 


• • T • . i'*/. ■ 

V?* *< ' 

.J ■' 

■V:' 

•,• .'M •. 






.Jt 


' ■• .•*> ’ ■ 

* • ■ • 


' •■ •• 'T'l* 

> ' -S';’- '(''• 

- - '<* ••' . '1.' 

; • ■ V . ^ - ' • . .• 


> „ 




i ', 




ry 


■ •'• •. V’ 


• \ 
• 4 


. . -r • '--: ^ 


4 ^ f 


'r 

* r-*-.' • 'k,- - .* . JV..?, . W 

- V : v» / ■ ■ ;V - 

». -■ ' / '• '-' . ‘ ' 


• < ?• ... . 


: « • 


^ . »• 




Ay •,.•>• • ... : .•••- - 

'.*■ ••r • *• 

> • • 1 ^^ • 
yi «. 


. 


* 


6 


^ « • 


1 ^ 


' 4 . ?• ’- •"> '.> -s*’ 

■.^V,V'j* . iA< 




W 

V • 


• > 

. i 


'V. ’ 


« V 






: 


\ 




• : .' V 


' \ 


^ ^ w ’ • A . • . 


. . V 




• . • • . c y 


» - » 


• *. *t 


.< '.Jv V . ■ *• 

• • •■'- 4 . ■ 'i » 

^ • y-.' * * i - * . . ' l: « • ' '. 

■-'. V >■•*•>>' 

' ^ ■ ’^* V . - .'■ 

• •■- .- I.' . ‘r. . ; . ^ 






w 

■ 4 




. * . 


'■K 


• ) 


> . 




'. 4- ' ^ 


' V, . < -eA'-v V 

^ --.'.V - 


« *i' 


• ■* '- •/- 




1 , 

k 


' *> 


- .■ .^^ ■. 
V 1 ^ . • 


V 


. ’ - < 


• M ‘ - 


. I 


- >, •*.♦^ 


•«; "% 




. S- 


/. . ' 


. * V 

% '. 


; . . .. 

t 


^ f . i 




. 4» 

i/'. 

V 


a" , 


t .. 


S 


. . V'. * • 

> ^ v ✓ ' Vi» 








■ ^1 v- 




" * / -Vi]? 

V" f 


-. ^5^ 


. • . 


* • # 


I 

V 


I' 


< > 




* .-» 






✓ 


in 






\ 


•: ; 




t ^ 

■ \ 


* •'. ■ ■ V- ' ;■'. % ' 

' • r p ^ 


.* -. r 


V.'* 


. sr 


>. *. 


• • ’I 


H 






•• » 

I 


\* • » ' 


. ». 


^ 

>>* . 


• • 'r ^ 

•■ y - ■ . ■. ■■ 

..A. . ./•* • 

• ■» y ' . . h * 


»" T • 


. w • , % 

• t . - • •‘^1 

V , .- .• V' 


» ' . •»' 

\ ** •* j ^ 




i*? ! . i 


. ^ 


s* 


u. 


- . . ‘ - ' 

.5 - « . • - . •» 


‘r 'S , 


1*- •: ' 




. 4'»- 


•. r. 


...''V 

• * 


4 ■ ' . * *** 

“> . « f 


-''S': 




> -* < 


. • ,• •■A- ^ 

. ■ S“ - ■ 

■yyrm 

W* .* • ' »> 


> 

v*!* 

' -V< > 


' I 

•w 




•;r.v • .-. •. / , 

V** ♦ V • '• 

. 4 ^. ».• 1 I ^'- 


• • » ► 




’-•IV ^ 

r ■ 


^ 4 


• St 


i .»’ 


r- 

. I 


' ' ' — . 


i ' 




* ■'v*'* 


’ ' .* • 

* . ’ V 


v.^v.: 




0 * 0 
. • • •■ / 






y'^ ' . 

* .* *' . 
• ♦ > 




''H 


/ . ^ r • 

a * - - , < . .'• 

t ' '• i-v . • - 


■ f 


4# . 

Sr 




' » 


y t. 


' ’ 4-. ^'Vv 


I' 'y. 

r 




■ V- ■ - 


'' *»’ 

« 

•_ 


r-.r 

V- 


4. • A. 




• - *. t 

. 


•’J ' ' rV 


' - A' a . v» 

, ■ -vv. - -.. : .j' . 


4“ 


I . 


Is.-. ,. 

•'w •.- 

’ /» . / - ■ 'I 


4 •**•*- 

• V • ' • < *' •: 

^ .^f; v- . ■ 


..■«* V 

♦ ^ . 


• , . *4 


' f viv-. • 






. . ■^ -. • K :> . • . « 

•«.' . * ^ t . • • * 

•V "-»■ ' y « 

- f .»• \ 


i ‘ • 

r- ■ .* r.» 

- y. ■ 


yjfv'- \ 


■ .X 


1> 


. s 
■ • . ’• »> 


^ 


v': ■ 


t ■» A 


- 

■'; ■ -- 
' jA-it.y ’''- ‘V" • * 

' /!;:■ V , 

^ V • • • • * 

■'i . V>< 

A . • • 


- /. r 


, y 


i 


•vt '-. A-; i; 


• :.; y •'> A- 
* • ^-1^' 


' * ■ -' • ^ 5 T. ■ ,' . 

':a 


: V ; . ;■ ' 


V . 




N.-. ’ 

.V-^* ^ 


V 

' • ' 5 - 


•- i 


y ' 

A • 


'■'V’V'V . ■ .r,- ' 

t ' • ■ . "*' ^ ' * 

V ■- *' /.’Hi. 1 . •• 

'■ . , -w’'’ “• • - ' .' '“••*- • •* ■’•.. •'. 

‘ * ■ > J ^ 


K . * ' - 


’*^». • • T*.’ 4 


■ i 


^ V. *- 

■ y • 4- 

.'■'t's V ^ V* '.''v ■ 

* A'' .’• ' 


-'■ ' A.~; ’‘‘ . • ^ 

I . > * •^'’y 

* 4 

,*r 4,-i ^ 


. 4. • . i 


' 4 


.V 


■ C‘\\’ ' 

'■ ■ •- V^--‘.- 


V- 


-■ • •• ** 


. ■ r 




t V .; 








rVv'* 




\ • / ,A' ,' .■ ■ ' .i^- 

. *■..•■" J V' 

-.••'♦ • ’ V ' . . 4’ . * 

. /- * » ' ■ V ■ >>*■«•• .rv-'t yj' 

V ^ vi ' "'' ■ • ■-'■ - 

.-. iv,. ,. ■-.;•. . •• " 





rV , 


f? 


/ •. . ■ 

* * V •*• • ‘ ^ 

:V 


V»A 
^ ■ . t 

* < r 


•* ►. 


• . f 

V -V.' i ^ • *■ . '^vt v«- 


v«- 


’ -. * . 


sk:*- 


. * ••. • ' t 

• - ■» ' . X . V • . 

‘ y. t 


.'“ . .:* ■ . 

• ■'• /•■■ I'V 


•' - 


W • 

. »% 




lA.yf , 




. • ,*v •- '•-<*•/ 

^ : ■■ ^ . 
s • ' ,k^ ’>• y *“ 


'ns. 


..'* I * 

fe'* '■■. h: 

i'.’ . -• » 1 • 


.* » i' > >' 

» ' > .n\ ».• 

cl 




•rr . •• v ' *■ . 

i. j . . • * 


.V 



V * » 


<4. 


* . ' .n( 


-A, ' -.'s-^ 

’ y \^W ■.. . '-A 


I 





4 . • 





[ 


> 


li 







* * » # J f 

• V ■; ' ■ . ^ '*.■ 

- -' - •> 

isrfwtr'^v ■ 


« <‘ 


• i 


y. ^ 


/ > 


‘ V 



f!'»7 

> j i >, 



. - - . '*• • ^ At i ’ « r 

-Vf 

1 «?'V'A..v 
. .•%«'-\ * ■ - • 


!ri-- . • - ^ , 

■'^' s?w 





J 


' 1- 





. tiA'x \ 


.W 




— »■ 


^ • 



f ' ' . * *, • r * • 

■C \\\ 4 , , •• ■ 

. 5 i-*-*Vv' ■ • ;. 



» « 


V . 4 







1 ' 


• . * • 




‘ ' •■'' v*« ■ 

* • 









u' 


'C 


1* 



-.7" • 

2te' ■■ 


* 


» 4 > 


''t>v >^v 

V'Vn ■• . f*.*; ‘ 

-■ , ' ■ ■ ^-^■' , . ■ 

* • i _ . A - . ' ■ '■ 





r » 




» , 


J . 







J c 


> , 


• •• 




i . * 


• .(■.* if ’i'- 

, . ,^ 1 » .— 



r f 


'* 


I*. 


t ^ d J 

: *! iy f 

* * t 


^ ' s j 


''■ »» 


* V- 


t •». t. \‘\ *- v)’, .► 

-. ■ U'- . >W .- V.. ‘v • . 


r. 




t ■«, 



iT* 9 

Ti - r> . , 


fi 

/'-v -f'i'j 


■ •',*' -i», ^ r' . 


.k « 


- * 


r ■'.' V^- 




^ -I 1 


^ 4 




/▼•aJ- 


* .. V ■ ‘ 

V ' U V 't - ’ / ?/■ 

















